


A bed of roses

by sunofthemoon



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Demisexuality, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Insomnia, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Swan Queen Week, Swan Queen Week Summer 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-10-23 21:57:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 88,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17691848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunofthemoon/pseuds/sunofthemoon
Summary: Hopeless romantic, Regina Mills, finds her entire life turned upside down when everything she's ever worked so hard for, breaks before her very eyes. In her attempt to bottle up her emotions, it all comes bubbling up in the form of insomnia. A few months later and she's at her wits end- the only plausible solution? Find someone to fill the empty spot next to her in bed.In her exhausted state, she meets Emma Swan, a woman who both grates on her every nerve and intrigues her enough that they begin an arrangement of a platonic romance, a planned revenge, and nothing that's supposed to mean anything. With her best friend's wedding looming overhead, and her feelings for Emma growing into something alarming, their game of pretence may just be Regina's undoing.Written for Swan Queen Week 7: Domesticity / all days





	1. Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here!
> 
> This story has been a pain in my behind for months, and I'm now finally at a place where I'm comfortable enough to start posting. It's also the longest story that I've planned, so this is going to be a ride.
> 
> The fic deals mainly with the bed sharing/ fake relationship trope, although the bed sharing is more prominent, and the fake relationship only becomes a major trope from the second half.
> 
> I'm following the Swan Queen Week prompts for Domesticity, and using all eight prompts- although I haven't used them in order and shuffled them around to fit the story.
> 
> Unlike my other fics, this one solely focuses on Regina's P.O.V, which I felt was important, especially considering the issue of insomnia that will be tackled. I have studied cognitive neuroscience, and know quite well the effects and causes of insomnia (inability/difficulty sleeping during usual sleeping hours), but if I have misinterpreted anything or have wrong information on this subject, then please let me know so I can do further research/fix the mistakes accordingly.
> 
> And lastly, I'd like to thank Swati for reading through the very first draft of this, and giving me some pointers which led me to completely turning everything on its head. If I didn't have that feedback, this story would not be what it is.
> 
> Enjoy!

Sleep is for the weak some say— how many times has she heard the phrase _I’ll sleep when I’m dead_ from those with too much to live for? It’s all a farce, a face of bravado that Regina doesn’t have when she’s nothing more than a walking corpse in expensive heels and a pantsuit that hangs off her frame.

 

Regina needs her sleep, needs it badly enough that she’s parked in a dingy street with her knuckles white around the steering wheel. There had been some consideration for a professional cuddler, what with her mother looking on at her in pity and passing on a shiny pretentious card— but Regina had gaged at the idea of cuddling up to the same stranger her mother did at night, tossing the card in the trash instead.

 

What she needs, Regina thinks, whilst eyeing a low end brothel with trepidation curling around her chest, is something discrete and far away from her mother’s interference as possible. The last thing she needs is Cora Mills advertising that her daughter requires someone to hold onto at night to get any shut eye, no doubt adding another feather in Mother’s cap as she continues to compete with her—

 

“Hey,” a voice says, cutting through Regina’s thoughts as she startles, hand flying to her chest. It’s beating too fast to hear anything, Regina’s fight or flight instinct clearly broken as she finds herself frozen in her Mercedes, wide eyes taking in the sight of a blonde woman with hands raised in surrender. “Take it easy,” she reassures through the glass, laidback smile on her face.

 

Whether this is a prostitute Regina had been too scared to hire or someone crossing the street, she can’t be too careful when it comes to trusting anyone crawling out from this part of town; and yet Regina finds herself switching her car on to roll her window down just a crack, button sticky under her fingers as she sweats nervously. “Yes?” she asks, clearing her throat, “is there something you need?”

 

The woman laughs, a dimple barely visible in the dim lighting of the street. Regina feels mocked at the mere implication of the sound, a scowl forming on her lips. “Are you looking for someone?” The woman finally asks, green eyes not unkind as she stares at Regina through the slightly rolled down window.

 

“Maybe,” Regina answers cryptically. She doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, especially someone who thinks threadbare tank tops are appropriate outerwear.

 

Raised eyebrows accompany the chewing of a pink bottom lip, gaze darting from this side to that before the woman looks back at Regina with a slightly concerned expression. She has the audacity to ask, to question Regina’s motives with a surprisingly serious, “are you being blackmailed?”

 

“ _W-what?!_ ” The spluttering response escapes her before she can stop her reaction, a lack of sleep dulling her self control as she angrily adjusts her seatbelt to prevent it from cutting into her shoulder. “I don’t know who you think you are Miss—?”

 

“Listen, if you are being blackmailed, just blink once.”

 

Regina grinds her teeth together, staring the woman down without blinking. How many episodes of CSI has Miss skinny jeans watched to come to such a ridiculous conclusion? “I am _not_ being blackmailed,” she says evenly, stretching up to speak through the gap in the window. Obviously, this woman has no sense of what proper manners are, not when she hasn’t even answered Regina’s silent question of a name, jumping instead to being a cop in a situation that doesn’t need policing.

 

One arm on the roof of Regina’s Mercedes, the woman leans down with such casualty, that Regina finds herself swallowing thickly for absolutely no reason at all. “Then what are you doing here?” she asks with narrowed eyes, Regina jerking back as if burned.

 

“None of your business.” It’s as quick a retort as Regina can think of, closing the small gap in the window with a swift press of a button to end a conversation that’s rapidly becoming uncomfortable. Switching on the ignition, the Mercedes roars to life, making Miss wannabe cop step aside as Regina drives away, muttering under her breath about what a bad idea this had all been in the first place.

 

:::

 

“Oh my God.” The disbelief is evident in Zelena’s voice, eyes following Regina as she moves seamlessly in the kitchen.

 

Lettuce and cucumbers are sliced, cherry tomatoes washed and placed in a bowl for a Greek salad that looks a tad bit too red. “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Regina says, picking out some of the tomatoes to add in a bit of feta cheese.

 

Clicking her tongue, Zelena pops a tomato in her mouth and chews with the delicacy ingrained upon the Mills sisters by Cora. Even with their mother currently in another country with her professional cuddler, the off chance that she might just show up will never surprise them enough to drop the well bred act. “The only thing you _did_ do wrong was not ask her for a shag. You’ve had that stick up your arse since Mal—”

 

“That’s enough.” The cheese crumbles in Regina’s hands, the tendons in her neck straining where she keeps her well guarded anger to herself. It had already been a few months, enough time to move on from needing another body in bed beside her, but Regina has always had a bad habit of not letting go. “We’re not turning this into something crass.”

 

Zelena huffs, curling her fingers under her chin as she rests her elbows on the kitchen counter. They’re only two years apart, but Regina acts like she’s twenty years Zelena’s senior by holding the weight of the world on her shoulders. “You should consider someone to... _cuddle_ ,” she says tentatively, picking at another tomato, “for one, you look horrible without beauty sleep, and—” she cuts in before Regina can speak up, “you can shove it to both Mummy dearest and Mal the dragon all in one go.” Finally putting the now bruised cherry tomato into her mouth, Zelena raises an eyebrow at Regina as if to say, _well?_

Wiping her hands down on a dishtowel, Regina must admit that she is intrigued. She says, “I think you’ve officially lost it,” but Zelena knows her aching need for revenge more than anyone in this world. It was Zelena who helped her release all Ursula’s new fish into the pond by the park when they were in high school, the girl stealing the lead from a school production that should have been Regina’s in the first place. That was years ago, and the only thing that’s changed is the tactics of getting even— preferably subtler methods that don’t involve security cameras, and Cora Mills dwindling down their punishments to collecting back all the lost fish (and essentially buying back the few that they couldn’t find).

 

“You need sleep, sis,” Zelena reminds her softly, reaching across to squeeze her palm. “And if you need a prostitute to do it, then who am I to judge?”

 

Slapping her sister’s arm, Regina huffs as Zelena wiggles her eyebrows, chuckling against her better judgement. “Way to ruin a moment, sis.”

 

“Not if I made you laugh, I didn’t.” And _that_ at least they both can agree on.

 

:::

 

“Professor? Professor Mills?” Regina turns toward her name, blinking slowly as she tries to concentrate on the person standing in front of her desk. She had only gotten about an hour of sleep the night before, her limbs sore and mind drifting from here to there. “Professor Mills, your class started fifteen minutes ago?”

 

Fifteen minutes? She checks her watch, the numbers blurry but definitely well into her lecture time. The morning had been hazy, a stumbling mess of her body wanting more sleep but unable to drift off when she set aside time to do so. Now isn’t the time to take a nap, not with a class of over enthusiastic undergrads looking to her for explanations of the chapter they should have read before the lecture. “Right,” she says, gathering her laptop and textbook, “stuck in a meeting was all.”

 

There was no such meeting, but the class rep that stands tall and proud in her office (that she did not invite him into) doesn’t need to know that. Resisting the urge to rub at her eyes to clear her vision as she walks, Regina wonders how much of a kiss-ass this boy is to run across to the cafeteria and get her a coffee.

 

Looking over at his slightly rumpled shirt and too tight formal pants, she swallows down her question and turns into the lecture hall. He might be a kiss-ass, but he looks like a loud mouthed one too; one that sits right in front to have the perfect view of her legs as she attempts to stand in four inch heels and try not to drone on about—

 

“Fundamentals of communication.”

 

“Professor, this is the second year class.”

 

“I meant, Organisational communication.” Smartass too then, huh?

 

She brought the wrong textbook, can’t find the slides, and seethes when the class grumbles as she dismisses them early. There is going to be an entire day of this, of students who adore her and that will expect her to be at her best, but she’s so damn _tired_.

 

Picking up her stuff with every intention of going home, the excuse of being sick already armed and loaded, Regina has come to understand one thing: she needs sleep, no matter the cost.

 

:::

 

Sleeping pills, white noise, counting sheep, a damned body pillow—there isn’t anything Regina hasn’t done, and yet she refuses to seek out the one solution that makes her seem weak in the face of people who don’t really care.

 

That’s a _lie_. People care; people care about where she went for holiday, whether she’s dating anyone new, why she’s essentially boycotted social media ever since Mal—

 

They care about the wrong things, and Regina hates to admit that she values their opinions of her— never mind the fact that in a few weeks time she’ll be dropping herself head first into a situation that will blow everything wide open.

 

It’s something she won’t miss for the world, but also something she doesn’t want to attend with pitying stares and a wide berth at a _wedding_ no less. Marian has been her best friend since college, the one to stick her fingers down Regina’s throat in order to throw up all the cheap alcohol consumed at frat parties, and the one to pull Regina away from girls with bad reputations before she got herself hurt. This much she can do for Marian, even if insomnia threatens to break her, and she’s sitting in her idling car at ten in the evening trying to defeat it.

 

Willing her eyes to close and sleep to come, Regina hopes the vibrations of the car will help mimic the drive that used to put her to sleep as a child. The pretence lasts approximately three minutes before Regina huffs out an angry breath and fiddles with the radio instead, the soft tones of a woman’s voice deceiving enough for Regina to try once again to fall asleep. It’s sufficiently dark outside that the atmosphere is almost romantic, crickets chirping and a lone bird chirping back, everyone in suburbia oblivious to Regina’s frustration as they live their lives wrapped up in perfection.

 

Perhaps that is what makes Regina angry, the one thing to drive her over the edge as she sits in her stationary car, upper lip curling in a furious rage that she chokes back tears at. She had a plan in place, a checklist of things she wanted to achieve in life that had been turned upside down; and she wonders, for not the first time, if she was the cause of it all.

 

Finally putting the car in reverse, Regina backs out of her driveway with the lights still off, fighting back tears with deep breaths as the song from the radio gives way to a too loud advertisement.

 

…

 

“Hey,” Regina hears, her fingers still gripping the steering too tight, staring out at nothing in particular through the windshield as the third person for the night approaches her. Her first instinct had been to pepper spray anyone who would so much as dare talk to her, but in order to avoid any lawsuits, she’d taken to shooing them away like pigeons. Picking her head up to fend off another idiot, Regina pauses when she sees that it’s the woman from a few nights ago.

 

Hitting the button for the window to go down two inches this time instead of one, Regina glares at the blonde, wondering how someone can be so brave to attempt another conversation when the last one had been disastrous.

 

The woman asks, “here again?” and Regina bristles at the judgement in her voice. She hadn’t intended to drive downtown, but who is Miss tank top to question her?

 

“What’s it to you?” Regina snaps back, eyes flashing with anger and chest constricting with the tell tale sign of rage that’s too quick to rear its head without proper rest these days. Exhausted beyond measure, her bones creaking as she turns to face the woman completely, Regina doesn’t bother with niceties when every part of her aches.

 

One neatly plucked eyebrow raises in response to Regina’s outburst, the woman backing away from the car in defence. How many people must’ve treated her like this, Regina doesn’t know, but she can clearly see how the blonde’s muscles tense in response to possible danger. Exhaling, Regina hits the button for the window to roll down entirely, throwing out an olive branch of trust. “I’m looking for someone,” she says softly, taking in the skin tight jeans, black tank top, and luscious curls of the woman who inches closer to the car.

 

Muscled arms cross over her open window, two sharp elbow points invading Regina’s space. The woman finally speaks with a hint of interest, “well, maybe I can help you. Do you know their—”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Regina cuts in, agitated again as she fails to formulate a proper answer to a perfectly innocent question. She doesn’t even know what she wants, maybe she never has, and that realisation has cold dread settle at the bottom of her stomach. “You know what,” Regina rasps, “I think this has been quite enough.”

 

“Listen,” Miss skinny jeans hisses, leaning in too close to Regina, “I’m trying to help you, alright? So if you don’t want my help, then say so without that attitude.”

 

Attitude? _Attitude?!_

Pushing back from the car, leaving Regina stunned inside, the woman walks down toward the busy part of the street with a sway to her hips that Regina does _not_ watch. “You—you bitch!” she lamely yells, the woman turning back to her with a smug smile fixed firmly on her face and her middle finger up in the air.

 

:::

 

Regina has only had about three hours of sleep in the two days after her run in with Miss luscious locks. This time her lack of shut eye is blamed solely on the woman who doesn’t leave Regina’s thoughts no matter her attempts to distract herself. She’s starting to notice permanent frown lines on her forehead, her lips always screwed up in a scowl.

 

The sad part is that her students have to bear the brunt of it, Regina disorganised and lacking in the usual teaching fineness that captures the attention of everyone in the room. She loathes to admit it, but Regina has become one of those lecturers who reads a powerpoint presentation out loud and hopes the class occupies themselves by taking too many notes.

 

Thankfully, the semester break gives her enough time to sort through her insomnia and still use it as an excuse during Marian’s wedding as to her impending bad mood. It’s during days like these that she tries to find her anger, but it only ends in the pathetic feeling of despair. The night is cool and bright enough to warrant a romantic picnic out on the garden, two glasses of wine and a plate of cheese before serving a main course that won’t be eaten.

 

Wrapping her arms around herself, her heart clenching with the loss of something severe, Regina gets into her car in the dead of the night and _drives_.

 

…

 

She ends up in the same street, wondering if going into that brothel will help her forget her worries for the night; it’s tempting, what with the promise of something—something empty, but _something_ nonetheless.

 

There’s a tick in her fingers when she considers driving forward, gaze darting from side to side as a cold sweat breaks across the back of her neck. A figure catches her eye in her side mirror, Miss skinny jeans scoffing when she spots the black Mercedes, indecision written across her features as she approaches the car. There’s a moment when she flips her hair over her shoulder and begins to walk in the opposite direction, but a stomp of a boot down onto the tarmac and Miss tank top makes a beeline for Regina’s car with a scowl on her face.

 

This time, there isn’t a polite greeting, not when there’s an incessant rapping on Regina’s car window instead. “What?” Regina asks over the crack of the open window, feeling wounded and vulnerable enough to lash out.

 

“Are you,” Miss muscle arms bites out, “looking for someone?”

 

Glaring in response, Regina hates the fact that she has to resort to nicknames that enhance the beauty of this woman. Any other attempts to think up something scathing falls flat when faced with someone who doesn’t deserve her rage, not when Miss tank top has been the only decent person to try and help her get somewhere she doesn’t need to be. “What is your name?” Regina asks instead, rolling the window down halfway.

 

Frowning at Regina, she licks her lips as she contemplates whether giving up this piece of information will hurt her in the long run. “Swan,” she finally answers, a name to a face that gives her the privilege to rest her arms on a now slowly opening window.

 

“I _am_ looking for someone, Miss Swan… was it?”

 

Nodding her head, Miss ~~luscious locks~~ Swan leans down further into a comfortable position to cock her head curiously, looking uncannily like a puppy. “Who are you looking for? Maybe I can—”

 

“ _Help_ , I know.” Miss Swan glares at Regina’s mocking tone, her jaw clenched and arms on full display as they flex with anger. Regina’s eyes are immediately drawn to the muscles there, a surge of fear washing over her. She’s been parked here too often, her movements traceable by anyone who wants to know where she lives if they just follow her home— Regina doesn’t know what she’s even doing here, only that she needs to sleep, and Miss Swan is an anomaly that she can’t let go of, not until she’s proven a point that hasn’t yet taken form.

 

Temper flaring, Miss Swan asks, “What the hell do you want, lady?”

 

The abrupt question causes Regina to think on her feet, the most absurd and the most _obvious_ statement rushing past her lips, “I want you to sleep with me.” On the exterior, Regina is surprisingly collected, the only thing giving her away is the redness to her cheeks and the way her eyes dart to the side before returning to Miss Swan’s face.

 

Miss Swan responds with a grimace on her lips at Regina’s ineptitude of finding the right words to explain her needs to a stranger. Running her fingers through her hair, she sights out a tired, “listen,” and Regina knows she’s lost her.

 

“I mean _literally_ ,” Regina breathes, just a hint of desperation in her voice. “Just sleep.” Now that she’s said it, nothing else makes sense. She’d get to have another body in bed, just until she can wean herself off the habit of having someone, and surely Regina can afford Miss Swan’s rate?

 

Scrutinising Regina for a moment, Miss Swan shakes her head and stands to her full height, Regina craning her neck to keep the woman in her sights. “Ever heard of professional cuddlers?” she asks. “They hug you in the night for a fee I’m sure you can afford if this car is anything to go by. And besides,” she says evenly, “I don’t trust a woman with too much money looking to buy someone on the cheap.”

 

Regina isn’t rich, not by her mother’s standards anyway, but she’s got a comfortable life, one luxurious enough to be a little offended at Miss Swan’s words. The scathing remark that sits at the back of her throat is swallowed down when Miss Swan moves away from the car, making her way down the street as Regina fumbles with her seatbelt to try and follow. “Miss Swan!” she yells out, choking out a cough when her seatbelt only manages to strangle her, the damned device only unclipping when Miss Swan is a good way down the road. Stumbling out of her car, the seatbelt zipping back into place without a hassle, Regina stands in the middle of a dingy street with no other options, and no other form of hope.

 

“I just need to sleep,” she rasps out, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes as she thinks about the horrible year she’s had, of the plaguing insomnia that only grows worse with every attempt to combat it. She doesn’t know if Miss Swan is going to help in any way, Regina doesn’t even care at this point, not when the prospect of winning against this one little thing makes her want to sob in relief. “Just for a few days,” she adds, “I can pay you.”

 

Miss Swan pauses at that, golden hair shinning under the dim lighting as she turns to face Regina, a frown on her face that only deepens the longer she stares at a woman who has for the first time since parking here, stepped out of the luxury of her car. “Maybe I don’t care about the money,” she says, the volume of their conversation above average with the distance between them, “maybe I care about you throwing your money in my face.”

 

Regina barks out a laugh, a few tears escaping through the corner of her eyes that she swipes at. She wants to ask _what money?_ but her life in comparison to this street is worlds apart, a thought that has her sober up and look down at her new shiny heels. “What do you want?” Regina asks instead, because that’s better than arguing over nothing, not when Regina is defeated enough to allow this one argument to slide past.

 

Miss Swan contemplates the question for a moment, hands on her hips and chin raised as if she’s the one with the upper hand here— and for a moment Regina wonders if she really is. They know nothing about each other, and the assumption of Miss Swan being an employee of the brothel across the street doesn’t seem to hold so true when skinny jeans and tank tops aren’t exactly the dress code the other girls seem to be wearing. “Why me?” she asks after a long moment, voice too soft.

 

Shuddering under the weight of _that_ price, Regina’s fingers curl and uncurl into a fist, gaze searching through the sidewalks and light poles to find an answer that isn’t written there. She knows why it would be easy to turn over in bed and see Miss Swan there, golden locks splayed out across Mal’s side of the bed, a lie to herself that can work for the few minutes between asleep and awake. “You were the first person to talk to me when I parked here,” she lies, biting down on her lower lip and soothing the sting with her tongue, “I believe in fate.”

 

Regina is looked over once, twice, and then Miss Swan nods as if Regina should be grateful she’s agreeing. “Just so you know,” she says, thumbs tucked into her belt loops, “I’m still taking your money.”

 

And that, Regina doesn’t doubt for a second.

 

…

 

Miss Swan is far too comfortable for her liking, and Regina questions her judgement for the umpteenth time as she drives them back to her house. They’ve only just joined the highway when the silence that’s been pressing down on them finally breaks. “Where are we going?” Miss Swan asks, one elbow on the open window that blows cool air onto Regina’s face, dark locks whipping in the wind until Regina purposefully hits the button on her door to roll the window back up.

 

“My house,” she answers easily. Miss Swan scoffs, a demeaning chuckle churning the insides of Regina’s stomach.

 

“Can you see that shopping mall there?” Miss Swan asks, pointing in the general direction of a very large, very lit up mall. “Go there and park.”

 

Regina looks toward Miss Swan with a raise of her eyebrows and scoff of her own. “I am not sleeping in the car. And besides, I don’t take orders from the likes of _you_.” The desperation from earlier is replaced with agitation, her mood swinging from one end to another as she focuses all her energy on driving in a straight line. She’s constantly tired, exhausted to the bitter point of resorting to snapping at every little thing.

 

Miss Swan shakes her head, hitting the button on her door for the window to roll down again, just to have Regina jerkily curl her hair behind her ears to stop it from flying into her face. “You don’t even know what you’re doing,” she says, rolling her eyes like the child that she is. “Just go and park there, okay?”

 

“Get out.”

 

“What?”

 

“I said,” Regina grits out between clenched teeth, pulling over onto the curb, “get.out.”

 

For a moment, no one moves, no one dares to breathe as they stare each other down. Regina counts the seconds in her head, and watches the way Miss Swan’s upper lip curls in a sneer that mirrors her own. The car door opens, and Regina is rightfully startled when Miss Swan places one foot outside, intent on leaving her behind to salvage this scare tactic gone wrong. Had Regina been grappling with a little less than this insomnia, she might’ve appreciated Miss Swan’s sass, engaged in friendly banter perhaps, but instead, Miss Swan is left with a sleep deprived Regina where they’re locking horns on the simplest of things.

 

“You’re a real bitch, you know?” The crassness of the statement has Regina jerk back affronted, staring Miss Swan down who has half her body still inside the car and the other half spilling out onto the road. “You want help but won’t accept it, you want to sleep but won’t do anything about it. And I’m pretty sure you wanted me the first time we met, but you’re the most cowardly person I’ve had the displeasure of knowing.”

 

Regina splutters out an, “ _excuse me_ ,” properly insulted. “At least I don’t go around asking strangers to sleep with me, or pile my problems on someone else when I can solve it on my own. At least I have a sense of _dignity_.”

 

“Or pig-headed pride,” Miss Swan shoots back with, Regina growling low in her throat. She hates Miss Swan, hates her with every fibre of her being, and yet there’s something in Regina that latches onto her new nemesis with a desperate fervour that she doesn’t quite understand.

 

Crossing her arms over her chest and staring straight ahead at the road, Regina sits with a scowl on her lips and eyes narrowed in anger. Miss Swan is right, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she hates that she’s fumbling through this problem that every damned website has told her is easily curable. It also doesn’t help that the one solution to this—or an attempt at one, is sleeping next to a stranger at night. Regina doesn’t trust easily, but here she is, putting everything on the line.

 

The door to the Mercedes closes, and Miss Swan sighs in a way that sounds too much like a tired parent. “You’re exhausted, I get that,” she begins, Regina folding her hands around herself even tighter at the words, “but you can’t snap at me for no goddamned reason. I’m only trying to help you, make this easier on the both of us.” When Regina only harrumphs in response, Miss Swan continues, “taking me to your place is a bad idea. I don’t know if you’re going to tie me up to the bed and feed me only chocolate buttons for the rest of my life—it’s not like you’d agree to come to my place if I offered.”

 

Regina glances over at Miss Swan with a shameful look, gaze cast down as she unwinds her hands from her frame. “Then what you do suggest?”

 

“Somewhere neutral— and I was going to have this conversation with you in the parking lot, but I suppose the middle of the highway is just as appropriate.” When Miss Swan throws a smile in Regina’s direction, Regina deflates just a little more. A neutral location she can do, somewhere safe and secure for them both.

 

“There’s a hotel if we keep driving and take the first exit. It’s decent, and has security cameras. That okay?” At Miss Swan’s nod, Regina switches on the ignition and indicates to get back onto the lane. Once they’re driving however, Miss Swan’s window still rolled all the way down, Regina grumbles as she clumsily pushes her hair behind her ears, wayward strands obscuring her vision.

 

There’s a gentle touch, affectionate almost, and Regina nearly swerves off the road when Miss Swan helps her push her hair back. There’s a small understanding smile, something that makes Regina want to run in the opposite direction and fly toward it like a moth to the flame at the same time. This is not the deal, not when Regina has no intention of getting attached to someone who might represent an idea that been shattered just over a year ago.

 

“Thank you,” Regina rasps, swallowing past the lump in her throat. Miss Swan’s answering shrug puts Regina somewhat at ease, the hotel looming before them as Regina turns into the parking lot. When she hits the button for the window to roll back up, Miss Swan’s reflection staring at her through the glass, Regina feels the familiar sense of dread prickle the back of her neck, the car switching off to plunge them both into darkness.

 

…

 

“I didn’t think this through,” Regina whispers, keycard clutched in her hand as she stands in a standard hotel room: One double bed, one couch, one flat screen television, and one en-suite bathroom.

 

She sees the obvious flaws in her plan the moment Miss Swan sets foot into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed to test its bounciness. The expectation to follow through with this, for Miss Swan to help her sleep… it presses down on Regina’s chest until she clutches her car keys to ground herself, the metal cutting into her palm as her vision focuses once more.

 

Getting up from the edge of the bed to reach for one of the chocolates on the pillows, Miss Swan shoots Regina a knowing look. “What’s wrong?” she asks, unwrapping the chocolate to pop into her mouth, having only the bare minimum decency to offer the other one to Regina who shakes her head at it.

 

“I don’t have pyjamas,” is the first thing that comes to mind, and all Miss Swan does is swallow the last bits of her chocolate to begin unwrapping the other one. Regina wonders if she’s hungry, wonders whether this Miss Swan will bring a pimp to her door asking where his girl is; why she’s out so late sleeping with a woman who has only offered her the _concept_ of money. “How are you going to sleep in jeans? How do I know you won’t strangle me in my sleep and steal my car? How do I—”

 

“You don’t,” Miss Swan cuts in, discarding the chocolate wrappers. “I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”

 

Regina says drily, “I’m a little low on trust lately,” shoving her car keys in her pants pocket for safekeeping.

 

Miss Swan smirks in response, sitting down on the edge of the bed with such patience that it astounds Regina as to why this woman hasn’t left yet. “You have a lot of excuses,” she says, “and if I didn’t pity you, I might be more annoyed by them.” The touch of affectionate doesn’t bypass Regina, but she darts her gaze elsewhere and wills the warmth in her chest away.

 

It’s been too long since she’s taken out the romantic side of her, and it itches when she finally sits down on the edge of the bed to remove her heels and place it neatly to the side, her jacket pulled off her shoulders to be placed on the bedside table in the event that she finds the need to run out quickly. Miss Swan shifts beside her, their bedside lamps switched off as they climb under the duvets that feel cool to the touch.

 

Minutes of silence ticks by, Regina’s fingers clasped over her abdomen above the duvets, eyes staring at the grey ceiling that becomes lighter as her vision adjusts to the darkness. “Do you want me to hold you?” Miss Swan asks in a whisper, Regina closing her eyes when the voice beside her is different from the one it ought to be.

 

“This was a bad idea,” she finds herself saying, her voice broken in the darkness where the only company she has is a stranger with the name of a bird, and her insomnia that’s been the most loyal thing in her life so far.

 

Miss Swan turns toward her in the dark, a warm body that she could lean into should she truly want to get lost in the idea of something again, but Regina resists. “I…” Miss Swan struggles with her words, and Regina can see from the corner of her eyes how she hesitates to cross too many lines that haven’t yet been drawn. “Talk to me,” she says at last, “tell me what’s wrong, what I can do to help.”

 

It’s more than anyone has offered her in the past year, and something that Regina wills herself to resist taking lest she become addicted to the value Miss Swan might have in her life. There is no room for romance, not anymore, not with a stranger of all people who seems too eager to call Regina out on her bullshit. “I don’t know you,” she answers, keeping her muscles tense, her gaze still trained on the ceiling. “This isn’t something I do often—or at all. I can’t… this feels wrong.”

 

“Not even a one night stand?” Miss Swan asks in a breathy whisper.

 

“Not even that,” Regina answers, turning toward Miss Swan in the dark. She can make out the outline of hair that shines golden, a square jaw that’s partially hidden by the pillow, and the jut of a high cheekbone that makes the image before her a surprisingly pretty one. The hopeless romantic in her wonders why Miss Swan hasn’t found anyone to sweep her off her feet, why she’s currently in a hotel bed with a grumpy woman trying to fight off insomnia.

 

Regina’s staring is cut short when Miss Swan slides out of the bed, pale legs on full display. She’s taken out her jeans, Regina realises, sitting up on her elbows with a frown. “Where are you going?”

 

“You’re uncomfortable,” Miss Swan answers easily, reaching for her jeans, “this isn’t going to work.”

 

Dropping back down onto the bed, Regina runs her hands over her face in frustration. “It started about a year ago,” she says softly, the other figure in the room pausing her exit as she listens to the faraway voice of her companion. “I was happy, I was—I was on track with everything I had planned for myself. Then it all went to shit, and now I can’t sleep at night because… just _because_.”

 

There’s a story there that Regina refuses to talk about, but Miss Swan approaches the bed again, sitting down on her designated side with hundreds of questions written across her face in the dark. “I can sleep on the couch if that helps?”

 

Regina can feel her heart beating twice it’s speed at very prospect of not being left alone, the lump in her throat growing larger the longer Miss Swan looks down at her, waiting for her to say something. She wants to ask why Miss Swan won’t just leave, why she won’t find employment elsewhere when the hourly rate hasn’t even been discussed between them yet, instead she says, “that will be fine,” and effectively distances herself once more.

 

A pillow and a blanket are dragged over to the couch, the piece of furniture scrapping along the flooring as Miss Swan spins it around to somewhat face the bed. “So you know I haven’t stolen anything and run away,” she explains, just a hint of sass back in her voice as she sets her makeshift bed. Regina watches with only mild interest, going back to staring at the ceiling as she wills sleep to come.

 

…

 

Hours pass, _hours_. Regina has been staring up at the ceiling the entire night, trying to take solace in the fact that there’s someone else in the room with her, but every time her eyes close, she awakes with a jerk and blinks rapidly to keep the sleep out of her eyes. The unfamiliar surroundings doesn’t seem to help her trepidation, nor does the guilt of using someone like this in exchange for money.

 

Eventually, the ceiling changes from dull grey to white as the day begins, birds chirping in the distance. When she chances a sneak at Miss Swan on the couch, Regina finds her completely asleep. The feeling of guilt intensifies in pit of her stomach at making Miss Swan sleep on the couch whilst she rests on a bed she doesn’t even use; still, the sight of Miss Swan unconscious eases the tension in her shoulder blades just a little— a sleeping stranger is not a threatening stranger, and Regina hadn’t been lying when she said she had been a little low on trust lately.

 

Reaching across to pull her phone out from her jacket pocket, Regina squints at the time. It’s only five in the morning, and they have enough time to check out if Regina just gives into her body this one time for a quick power nap. Picking her head up to make sure Miss Swan is still asleep, Regina shoves her phone back in her jacket pocket and turns on her side to get comfortable, the view of the ceiling giving way to the back of her eyelids.

 

…

 

When she comes to, her vision blurry and limbs lethargic, Regina notices that the sunlight streaming into the room is at full force. Lifting her head up to try and make out her surroundings, she sees the couch made up and turned back into its original position, no sign of Miss Swan anywhere.

 

Panic begins to set in, the feeling of cold betrayal familiar as she pats down her pockets to find her car keys intact. Her jacket is still on the bedside table, Regina turning the pockets out to show her phone and credit card exactly where she left it. Even her shoes are still in place, Regina left alone in a hotel room with a few hours of sleep that didn’t leave her feeling like death, but the loneliness with Miss Swan’s obvious departure sure does.

 

By the time she freshens up and pulls on her shoes and jacket, it’s closing in on eleven in the morning, hotel keycard clutched in her hand as she scans the area to check for anything that might’ve been left behind. She hadn’t come with much to begin with, but she still feels like she’s leaving with a lot less.

 

Pulling on the door, the sudden movement making a page flutter by, Regina bends at the waist to pick up the scrappy receipt with a scrawl in blue pen behind it. There’s a landline number with a note;

 

_Call me if you need someone to sleep on a couch again ~~  
~~  – Swan :) _

For some unknown reason, the note makes her smile. Against her better judgement, Regina pockets the old receipt, still believing that this would be a one time thing, no matter that she can see straight today and that her severe joint pain has lessened to somewhat moderate. There’s something of a smile on her lips as she checks out of the hotel, driving away with her windows rolled all the way down.


	2. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the overwhelming response on the first chapter! I know this is a difficult subject that I've decided to tackle in this fic, so I only hope that I manage to do that in the coming updates. As always, if there is any incorrect or misinterpreted information, please let me know so I can fix it
> 
> This chapter is for Evie who wouldn't stop screaming about this for the entire week. 
> 
> Also, a very Happy Valentines Day! <3

“So?” Regina asks, hands clasped before her as she leans forward with her elbows on her knees.

 

Zelena sips her long island iced tea with two raised eyebrows in her sister’s direction, the crumpled receipt sitting on the coffee table before them. “So?” she repeats, shrugging her shoulders.

 

Regina groans, untangling her fingers to press her palms together in a plea. “You always have an opinion, and you’re telling me that you don’t have one now?”

 

“I realised my opinions are wasted on you.” Zelena sips from her drink, looking to the side at an interesting piece of art hanging on the wall rather than at her sister. This is a game they play, and Regina should know better than to expect a clean, well rounded attempt of direction from her big sister—if Regina really wanted something less crass, she’s read an advice column.

 

Swallowing her pride, Regina grips her glass that she’s sure has too much alcohol and takes a tentative sip. Her eyes water when she holds back a cough, but Zelena’s pleased smile is worth all the fuss. “I need you,” Regina says reluctantly, “and you were right.”

 

“Oh I’m always right, sis.” Zelena has the indecency to beam, the old receipt clasped between manicured fingers as she inspects every tiny detail. Zelena has always been scarily accurate about anything she might predict, her attention to detail astounding even Cora herself. It’s why Zelena is allowed to be a little crass sometimes, Regina thinks, and why everyone loves her for it regardless. “She put a smiley face at the end.”

 

Regina brings her palms up to her face, covering her eyes as she waits for what she really wants to hear. Zelena will ask questions, scrutinise every detail, and then tell her what to do—that’s always been the way things have worked. “Should I call?”

 

The receipt is placed back on the coffee table, Zelena gulping down the last of her drink before sneaking in a sip of Regina’s. “I don’t know,” she says, and _that_ causes Regina to peek at her sister through her fingers.

 

“What do you mean you don’t know? You _always_ know!”

 

Shrugging, Zelena pushes her empty cup away and doesn’t bother to ask before she steals Regina’s drink entirely. “You’re the grumpiest sod I know, but you’re also the sappiest. If she stayed for the grouch, then maybe this one has potential.”

 

Regina glares at Zelena, removing her hands from her face to rip her drink back out of her sister’s hold. There’s still too much alcohol when she takes another sip from it this time, but she keeps it in her hand out of spite. “She was rude, and said I had an _attitude_. The only potential she has is to irritate the life out of me.” There had also been moments where Regina had been stunned into silence, craving something more than just a stranger sleeping a few feet away from her on the couch.

 

“She said something to you?” Zelena asks as she makes her way over the mini bar to help herself to some of Regina’s apple cider. There’s a concerned frown on her face when she turns back toward her sister, a protective instinct flaring at the thought of someone insulting Regina.

 

Sensing the hardness to Zelena’s words, Regina takes another sip of her long island iced tea and sighs though the burn. “I wasn’t exactly sunshine and roses either,” she defends, fearful for Miss Swan’s life with the cruel look in Zelena’s eyes. “She’s the first person who asked me what I needed after… everything.” This time, Zelena’s expression softens. They hadn’t always been this close, but Zelena had come running when Regina needed her, the only other person to check in on Regina regularly when heartbreak had threatened to end her.

 

Squeezing Regina’s shoulder, Zelena sighs as she reaches over to grab at the receipt again. “She helped you sleep better?” The answering nod from Regina is enough for Zelena to hand the receipt over, the last of the apple cider knocked back. “I’d like to meet this Swan, maybe she’ll be the one to finally pull that stick out your arse.”

 

Regina’s, “ _ugh_ ,” is enough for the seriousness of the situation to fall away, Zelena stealing another sip from Regina’s drink before she’s pushed from the arm of the couch, tumbling down onto the floor in a fit of giggles.

 

:::

 

She’s wasted a week of her semester break on brooding about Miss Swan, Zelena in and out as they talk around the subject whilst Regina sits on a phone number that she hasn’t attempted to call. Marian’s wedding is in another week and a half, Regina’s insomnia worsening with the thought that every time she wakes up in the morning, that’s another day closer to her own personal hell.

 

It’s late on a Friday night when she’s two glasses of wine down and lonely enough to retrieve the number, blue ink smudged along the sides from handling the receipt too much. The thought of doing something like this again, of becoming addicted to having another person in her life, in whatever form, makes her pause as she reaches for her phone.

 

There has never been any real plan when it came to Miss Swan or someone sharing her bed, but she aches enough both inside and out to hold onto something tangible whilst her world crumbles just a little more every day. Taking a deep breath, thumb hovering over the keypad, Regina takes the plunge when she types in the number quickly and hits the call button, phone pressed to ear.

 

It rings three times before she ends the call, nerves getting the better of her despite liquid courage flowing through her veins. Taking another sip of red wine, the Merlot bitter on her tongue, Regina paces the length of her living room with the receipt and her phone left on the vacated armchair. It sits there like a ticking bomb, watching Regina’s every move as she finishes off her third glass of wine and stumbles toward the chair with renewed fervour.

 

Typing in the number again, Regina closes her eyes against the ringing. Miss Swan could have waited for her to wake up instead of leaving the hotel, and the question as to _why_ plays on a loop in her brain until someone picks up on the other end.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hello,” Regina responds, clutching onto her phone too tightly, “Miss Swan?” There’s music in the background and it pounds against Regina’s ears when she strains to listen to the voice on the other end.

 

There’s shuffling, a few shouted words, and a man’s voice that makes something sick curl at the bottom of her stomach. “She’s busy at the moment, maybe you can leave me your name and number and I’ll get her to call you back?”

 

Regina doesn’t know what busy means, whether the discarded theory of Miss Swan being a prostitute is actually true when she pieces too many things together. Unwilling to provide her personal information to these people, Regina licks her lips and grabs the wine bottle by its neck. “How long do you think she’ll be busy for?” she asks instead, taking a swing of wine and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

“She’s almost done,” the man says, moving away from the phone to do Gods know what. “Hold on, she’s coming.”

 

The nausea that threatens to overwhelm her is pushed down with another gulp of wine, images of Miss Swan on her back arching into a stranger’s touch enough for her to clench her eyes shut. It brings back too many things she had buried, things that had broken her before she got a chance to build herself back up. “I’ll wait,” she finds herself saying, tucking herself against the leg of the armchair as she slides down onto the floor.

 

“Alright,” the man says, placing the phone down onto a hard surface with music still filtering in through the receiver. Regina listens intently, searching for sounds that will confirm or dispute her theory. There isn’t anything out of the ordinary, nothing she can make out when her waiting time only lasts two more sips of wine before a familiar voice jolts Regina out from a near sleep.

 

“Hey?”

 

Regina breathes out a relieved, “Miss Swan.” She turns to try and get more comfortable, the room spinning and wine bottle dangerously close to empty. She’s had too much, her alcohol tolerance levels at an embarrassing level of low on a usual day, but she hasn’t reached poisonous levels yet— and that’s a win in her books.

 

Miss Swan clears her throat on the other end of the line, moving to another location that’s further away from the music but not by much. “Who’s this?” she asks again.

 

Regina huffs, irritated at herself for thinking Miss Swan would recognise her when they barely spent more than a few hours together. Emptying the wine into her mouth, Regina swallows the bitter red down and sighs into the phone, the line awfully quiet. “It’s _me_ ,” she says obviously, “we spent a night at a hotel, and you ran out with only a number and a damned smiley face left behind.”

 

Miss Swan has the audacity to laugh, the sound bringing an unconscious smile to Regina’s lips before she can school her expression into something neutral. “Need me to sleep on a couch again?” The question is playful, touching base with too many things that Regina shivers at. This is borderline flirting, the type of useless romantic endeavours Regina would have jumped at the opportunity to participate in before.

 

“My sister wants to meet you,” Regina finds herself saying, the empty wine bottle placed atop the coffee table with only a groan of protest when she has to stretch forward to complete the task.

 

“Does your sister need me to sleep on a couch for her?”

 

Regina scoffs, tangling her fingers in her hair as she concentrates on not slurring her words. “No, she just wants to make sure you’re not a serial killer.”

 

Miss Swan laughs again, obviously amused at something. “Does she want to meet now or...”

 

Zelena isn’t even here, and Regina’s pretty sure that if she has to call her sister up to drag her to Gods know where, that will end whatever tentative relationship they’ve managed to build in the past year. “I don’t think she’s awake,” Regina says slowly, trying to get up on her feet, “but _I_ can meet you.” She’s called so late for a meeting, and so what if Zelena won’t be able to come? Regina is pretty sure that her presence alone will more than make up for whatever disappointment Miss Swan is facing.

 

The smile in Miss Swan’s voice is obvious when she speaks, Regina picturing that little dimple on her cheek and sparkling green eyes that _must_ be alight with joy. “Sure, we can meet at this twenty four hour diner I know?”

 

“What’s the address?” Regina asks, jotting it down on a page she’ll shove in a cab driver’s face whilst she pretends not to be drunk.

 

…

 

Regina digs into the greasiest cheese burger she has ever tasted. It’s got everything inside it, and not one ingredient is even the tiniest bit healthy. Had she been sober, Regina might’ve cared more about what she’s putting into her body, or the way she attacks the food with all the fineness of a bear.

                                                                

Her companion doesn’t seem to mind however, a permanent smile of delight on her face as she eats her own cheese burger, watching Regina with a hint of interest when she remembers to wipe the sauce off her mouth with the back of her hand. “Good burger?” Miss Swan asks, chewing on a fry.

 

“The best,” Regina moans, the sound loud enough to have Miss Swan’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, and the waitress that’s bringing a refill of their drinks to spill a little cold drink on their table in shock.

 

“Whoa there, tiger,” Miss Swan warns, mopping up the cold drink and shooing the waitress away when she clumsily tries to help. “Might want to keep those sounds to yourself.”

 

Frowning, Regina wipes her mouth with a clean serviette, swallowing her bite of burger before she speaks. “What sounds?” she asks, reaching for her glass to take a healthy sip, the Coca-Cola washing down the heaviness of the burger.

 

Miss Swan shoots her a look she can’t decipher, not when the colours of the diner are so bright, or the world keeps tilting on its axis the longer she tries to concentrate on just one thing. Besides, Regina is excited for the first time in a year—how long has it been since she did a midnight run to a place she’s never been to before, or eaten a cheese burger, or got drunk, or had decent company that wasn’t her sister?

 

Sipping from her own glass, Miss Swan dunks her fries into her cold drink and chews on them thoughtfully, watching Regina the entire time. There had been no real reason for this meeting, nothing beyond _I’m hungry_ , and their identical orders. “Why did you want to meet?” Miss Swan eventually asks, Regina picking her head up from her burger in confusion.

 

“I—” she manages a shrug, picking at her food now more than eating it. There isn’t a real reason, and Miss Swan knows as much, yet being in a random diner across town at midnight with a woman who goes by her last name is far better than sitting at home with only an empty bottle of wine for company. Pushing her plate away, Regina wipes her fingers on a serviette, too sober to smile her way through a situation as serious as this. “I can’t sleep,” she says, a truth that doesn’t apply to this situation, “will you help me again?”

 

There’s a long suffering sigh from the other end of the table, Regina looking at Miss Swan through her lashes before the woman nods her acceptance. “The diner is connected to an inn, I’ll go check if there’s a room available.”

 

Regina considers stopping Miss Swan, getting her to find somewhere a little more upmarket, but she’s gone before Regina can get a word out, a half eaten burger staring at her from a messy plate.

 

…

 

She learns that Miss Swan hates wasting food, their burgers and fries packed up in a polystyrene container that’s carried up to their room with a view of the few trees they call a forest. Regina loves it as soon as she enters, the 80’s theme wallpaper and knit blanket on the double bed giving way to thoughts on how easy it would be to turn this place into something truly romantic.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Miss Swan asks, Regina approaching the window to stare out into a truly breath taking sight. There’s more than a few trees down there, a growth of greenery covering acres of land that Regina closes her eyes against.

 

Licking her lips, left hand pressed against the glass, Regina says, “what a waste it has all been.”

 

“Oh?” Miss Swan probes, moving from behind Regina until they’re both staring out of the window, one with a wistful expression on her face and the other with a frown that speaks of confusion. “You think trees are a waste?”

 

Scoffing, Regina leans against the windowsill, arms crossed over her chest as she takes in the stunning image of Miss Swan illuminated by the dim light of the bedside lamp, her reflection from the window blending in with the forest below. “Not the trees,” she clarifies, “just…” and there’s that story again that Regina refuses to talk about, her liquid courage mopped up by half a burger and too many fries. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she allows herself to fall backwards, dark hair splaying out over the knit blanket as she stares at the patterned ceiling above her.

 

There are questions that float between them, things that they should ask each other to rid the label of stranger that sticks to them both, but all Miss Swan does is sit beside Regina’s head to look down at the defeated woman. She speaks of insomnia like it’s her main problem, but Regina knows that Emma can see how she brushes it aside for something larger than that. “Does…” Miss Swan starts, the word trailing off when her eyes drop down to the rest of Regina’s body. “Does your husband know you’re here?” she tries again.

 

Regina laughs, a full bellied laugh that makes her cover her eyes with her hand, engagement ring and wedding band glinting prettily even in the dim lighting of the motel room. “Wife,” she corrects, removing her hand to stare up at Miss Swan, her smile slowly disappearing behind a saddened grimace. “Ex-wife,” she corrects again, swallowing thickly as the tension in the air becomes too much to take. It’s been the first time that she’s admitted that fact out loud, her chest constricting with the acknowledgement of it.

 

“I’m sorry,” Miss Swan says hollowly, hand hovering between Regina and herself as she decides where to put it.

 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Regina snaps back, Miss Swan’s hand retreating to be placed on her own thigh instead. Regina is good at this, pushing people away when she knows she’s going to get hurt, but once she lets someone in, she’s been known to love too hard. “I didn’t mean to snap,” she apologises, sitting up on her elbows to push herself into an upright position. She knows the questions that Miss Swan wants to ask the moment she turns to look at her, their faces too close and Regina too drunk to care.

 

_What happened? Why do you still wear the ring? Why do you need me?_

 

It’s all there for Regina to pluck and answer, but she has questions of her own. “Why did you help me?” she asks eventually, her voice a whisper that tastes like Merlot.

 

The question seems to startle Miss Swan, shake the very foundations of her easy demeanour when she has to cough up the real intentions behind her actions. She blinks slowly at the closeness between them, licks her lips to stall time, and when she opens her mouth to speak, nothing really comes out but a puff of hot air. This is what Regina expected, an answer with a sweet lie, or no answer at all.

 

Scoffing, Regina shifts backwards until she’s leaning against the headboard, her boots pulled off to fall onto the floor with an undignified thump. There’s nothing for Regina here, not when she had exposed the part of her with an infected scab and got nothing in return for it. Halfway through unbuttoning her jeans, a quiet voice makes her pause. “Because,” Miss Swan says, clearing her voice of the roughness in it, “I— I can’t tell you without sounding like an idiot.”

 

“No need to try and change that reputation when you’re already one in my head.” Buttoning her jeans back up and pulling her sweater down, Regina waits for the rest of the answer, her lips parted and eyes narrowed as she holds onto every passing second as if the words that come from Miss Swan’s mouth will push meaning back into her life.

 

“You’re pretty,” she finally says, Regina’s smile frozen on her face as she tries to pull apart that answer and look for the hidden meaning there. “You’re attractive, wealthy, and needed me. I didn’t help you because I’m a good person, I helped you because…” Miss Swan sighs, rubbing her hands down her face before shaking her head.

 

“You did all this because of the way I look?!”

 

Miss Swan winces, but doesn’t deny it. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t ask me to sleep with you because I’m a decent person either. I saw the way you looked at my muscles, this is the way the world works—”

 

“I didn’t ask you to sleep with me because of your muscles,” Regina denies, chest heaving and still drunk enough for her heart to crack wide open. “I asked you to sleep with me because you look like _her_.”

                                       

Miss Swan is effectively silenced. She leans away from Regina, looking hurt in measures that they can both pull out and compare now. Choosing each other based on looks? How shallow are they, how mainstream must they be to place their trust in someone because of their level of attractiveness? Regina is not stupid, she’s got features that she can be proud of, but should anyone take away her sense of style or well manicured look, she isn’t sure she’d attract much attention from anyone who doesn’t love her. Does Miss Swan only see that? Even if she’s glassy eyed and a little clumsy tonight, her hair springing out curls from the dampness outside?

 

Turning her head away, Regina pulls her knees up to her chest and tries to find solace in the obscured view of the forest below. “You don’t look like her,” she admits after a few long moments, “even your hair is darker than hers.” She doesn’t know what to expect, but it certainly isn’t Miss Swan shifting to sit beside her on the other side of the bed, her clasped hands resting between folded legs.

 

“I did it because you looked like you could need someone.” The whispered confession catches Regina off guard, her gaze moving from the darkened forest to take in the expression on Miss Swan’s face. “And maybe… maybe I need someone too.”

 

The tear that tracks its way down Regina’s cheek is embarrassing, but she finds that she can’t help it, not when the past year of oscillating between the stages of grief have now finally amounted to acceptance. In the dimly lit motel room, Regina comes to terms with the end of her marriage in the company of a stranger with more heart than anyone she’s known— someone sensitive enough to wrap a hesitant arm around her shoulders. “I loved it,” she rasps, rigid in the hold but not shrugging it away, “being married, having someone to come home to, someone to spoil and plan a future with. I had everything I could have ever asked for, and then it broke in front of my eyes.”

 

Miss Swan swallows thickly, nodding along as her own eyes shine in a reflection of Regina’s grief. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she says softly, but Regina can see how curious she is, how much she seems to yearn for something that Regina has had at one point.

 

“I keep asking myself what I could done to make it better, to be better, but… I don’t—” Laughing through the tears, Regina swipes the lines of saltwater away, moving out of Miss Swan’s hold to face her instead. “Have you been married?” she asks, feeling too vulnerable, too exposed to a stranger who doesn’t even know her name.

 

Shaking her head, Miss Swan scratches the back of her neck with a sheepish expression on her face. “Never been one for commitment, just… lots of one night stands.” Somehow, that sounds sadder than Regina’s divorce with the way that Miss Swan says it.

 

“Well,” she breathes, itching to run out of the motel room and leave Miss Swan behind, her eyes darting to the door to make sure her exit is where she remembers it to be. “that’s—”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

Miss Swan chuckles, leaning forward on her palms, “I don’t know your name.”

 

The way they bounce from subject to subject should give anyone whiplash, but Regina finds that comforting; they never linger on things that hurt, never linger on the flirtatious banter that threatens to dip into unknown territory. “Regina,” she answers easily, her name sounding harsh when it falls from her tongue.

 

“Regina,” Miss Swan repeats, gentle like wind chimes against Regina’s ears. “That’s a pretty name.”

 

It’s something an old man at a bar would say, but it brings a smile to Regina’s lips to hear it from a woman who had already confessed to finding her attractive. She’s sure that by tomorrow most of the details will be hazy, but for now, there’s a stranger in front of her that’s patient beyond measure, a tranquillity to her that’s almost baffling, and Regina feels the romantic in her yearn for something she had thought she lost a long time ago. “Tell me yours,” she finds herself demanding, palms sweating like an elementary school girl making friends for the first time.

 

“Emma,” Miss Swan answers with, the name suiting her so well that Regina wonders how she couldn’t have guessed it.

 

Sticking out her hand, because there’s some unwritten agreement between them now, Regina pulls a smile up onto her lips and says, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

 

The laugh she receives from Emma is enough for Regina to clasp onto the hand that slides into her own just a little longer, from stranger to acquaintance in a dimly lit motel room that looks like it’s stuck in time.

 

…

 

“You’re not doing much sleeping.”

 

“I have _insomnia_ ,” Regina reminds Emma, the blanket scratching her bare legs as she turns to the figure in the dark. Regina’s eyes had started drooping not two seconds following their introductions, and after removing their jeans to get under the covers, Regina has been wide awake ever since.

 

Not impressed with the sass, Emma turns over to face Regina, their bodies not touching, but the heat between them enough that they don’t need to huddle for warmth. Regina isn’t sure whether she would like that just yet, tentative about getting overly attached too early on.

 

Emma quietly asks, “why do you think having me nearby will help you sleep?” That’s the million dollar question that has Regina almost will herself unconscious to just to keep from answering. She doesn’t have an adequate response, nothing concrete to justify needing this.

 

Sighing out through her nose, Regina curls further into the blanket, adjusting her cheek on the corner of her pillow so that it doesn’t obstruct her view of Emma’s face. “I don’t know,” she answers softly, “I’ve never been alone before. I thought having someone might help.”

 

“I get that,” Emma says, her voice low in the dark, “but maybe there’s another reason? Have you tried seeing a doctor?”

 

Chuckling, Regina presses her face further into the pillow, the sound humourless when she looks up at Emma’s concerned expression. “It’s not medically related.” _That_ at least she knows for sure.

 

Their conversation dwindles down into silence again, Emma and Regina staring at each other through the darkness as if something will shift. There’s baggage behind Regina that she shields with her insomnia, and Emma holds nothing in her hands, choosing instead to let it run through her fingers like sand. “Earlier,” Emma starts, Regina’s eyes already on her regardless of a new topic of conversation being broached, “you said something was a waste. What were you talking about?”

 

Regina licks her lips, breaking eye contact with Emma. “The years I spent being a hopeless romantic for the wrong person.”

 

The answer surprises Emma, Regina can tell with the way her eyes widen when she’s brave enough to look at her companion again. “ _You_? A hopeless romantic?” Emma asks, disbelief lacing her words. “I don’t believe it.”

 

“Really? What did you think? That I’m some heartless woman with a checklist?”

 

“No,” Emma says, reaching out to hold Regina’s arm in apology, “that’s not what I meant.”

 

Regina asks, obviously offended, “then what did you mean?”

 

Emma shrugs, squeezing Regina’s arm before letting go entirely, the patch of skin cooling too quickly for Regina’s liking. “Prove it to me,” Emma says, “tell me what you would do in this situation if you’re really a romantic.”

 

“Here? Now?” She’s already looking around the room, gaze eager as she taps into the romantic side of her that’s been aching to be let free ever since the divorce. “Well, if we were lovers and we were alone in this motel room, then we wouldn’t be just talking.”

 

Emma raises an eyebrow, one arm curling under her head as she settles in for the conversation. “That’s a given,” she agrees, “but that’s not exactly romantic.”

 

Humming, Regina licks her lips and shifts closer to Emma, feeling emboldened by the unspoken challenge. “If we were lovers, I would most likely ravage you senseless, and eventually when one of us will feel hungry or thirsty, I’d go down to the diner and order us some food—”

 

“So diner food is romantic?”

 

Regina glares at Emma in the dark, her thunderous expression enough for Emma’s smile to widen. “If you’re going to keep interrupting, the most romantic thing I can think of is murdering you and serving fresh Emma to the diner patrons.”

 

“Kinky,” Emma breathes, wiggling her eyebrows. “But do go on.”

 

“As I was saying,” Regina stresses, mirroring Emma’s position by curling an arm under her head, their free hands resting between them with only an inch apart. “I would go down to the diner and order us some food, then I’d get into our car and drive somewhere we could see the sunrise. When we find a place, I’d make a picnic on the hood of the car where we could spend time together… just the two of us, and the sun.” Regina swallows down the lump in her throat, nostalgia making her exhale shakily. “Given the limited time frame it’s the—”

 

“I get it,” Emma interrupts, “just the two of us and a view, right?”

 

Regina doesn’t answer, not when there’s just the two of them and the view of the forest behind her, not when Emma’s eyes are suspiciously shiny as she continues to look at Regina like she’s a creature that doesn’t belong on Earth. “People would kill to have someone love them as much as you do,” she finally says, “I hope you find someone who can appreciate that.”

 

She wants to smile, to thank Emma for saying such nice things, but Regina turns over to face the window, curtains drawn to hide the view of the forest below. “I’ve been told such love can be suffocating,” is all she says, stiffening when Emma touches her arm. She doesn’t want to be morose, doesn’t want the pretty ring on her finger to still mean so much, but it does, and it kills her more every day.

 

Emma remains silent from her end of the bed, Regina closing her eyes and deepening her breaths to imitate a slumber that avoids her like the plague. It’s after several minutes that the touch from her arm shifts away, the body beside her in bed moving until Regina can feel Emma leaning over. “You’re not suffocating,” Emma whispers; she inhales once more to say something else, but decides against it at the last moment.

 

This time, when Emma slips out of bed and shimmies into her jeans, Regina doesn’t lie still, not when she’s going to be left alone for the second time. “Going somewhere?” she rasps, voice thick with sleep.

 

Emma looks rightfully caught out, hands on the zipper of her jeans and the hem of her shirt between her teeth. “Uh,” she says, dropping her shirt to smile at Regina sheepishly.

 

“This isn’t a one night stand, Miss Swan,” Regina says in her teacher voice, pushing herself up to sit against the headboard. “You don’t like to get attached, and I’m probably a mess you _should_ leave behind in the dead of the night, but I thought we were past all that.” Had she any less pride, Regina might’ve called herself out on sounding like a wife.

 

Raising her hands in surrender, Emma shrugs off Regina’s scolding like water off a duck’s back. “I have work in the morning, so—” pointing her thumb at the door, Emma makes to move in that direction before Regina’s cutting voice stops her in her tracks.

 

“And what is it that you do for a living?” Because images of faceless men and women touching Emma has her on edge again, the taste of Merlot so easily rising up from her stomach.

 

Emma stares at her for a long time, arms crossed as she frowns at the simple question. She knows that Regina is recently divorced, that she’s suffering with insomnia, and what kind of car she drives, but Emma hasn’t provided much information about herself other than first and last name. “I work at a call centre,” she answers a little defensively, “customer service.”

 

Regina was not expecting _that_ , and it clearly shows on her face when Emma crawls toward her on all fours, their faces once again too close. “What did you think I do for a living?’ she asks, searching Regina’s face for a crack in her armour.

 

“What would _you_ think someone who takes money for sleeping with someone else does for a living?”

 

Emma shakes her head, lips twisted in a sneer. “I haven’t taken money from you, have I?” And that is true—they haven’t even discussed money beyond their initial conversation, and neither of them has thought to bring it up. She makes to move back toward the exit, but Regina grabs her wrist before she can get too far. An apology sits on the edge of Regina’s tongue, something heartfelt and appropriate for the dark room where so much has been shared already, but instead a familiar stab in her ribs makes her pause.

 

She knows that feeling, the feeling of falling for someone, for an _idea_. Emma needs to be fixed— had said it herself, that perhaps she needs someone in her life, and Regina is so good at fitting into a little puzzle and rearranging it to make everyone happy, that she releases Emma at once. Going down that road again, even if it isn’t with Mal, is not what Regina needs. “I’m sorry,” she manages to choke out, “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

 

Emma shifts forward with her eyes fixed on Regina, the way she moves making Regina ache with longing and lust. She catches herself, however, pausing before pushing back entirely to finish zip up her jeans. “It’s okay,” Emma says through clenched teeth, shirt hem between them until she releases the fabric to shield her abdomen from Regina’s greedy eyes, “but I really have to get to work.” The excuse sticks this time, even if it’s before sunrise and Regina can sense the lie in her words. Just before Emma can step out of the door, hand still on the knob, she turns toward Regina with longing in her gaze and pure vulnerability in the way she holds herself. “You’ll call me if you need me again?” she asks.

 

“You should take the food with you,” Regina says, nodding toward the polystyrene container, a clear dismissal in her stiff actions.

 

Emma blinks slowly, looking affected for the first time since Regina has met her. It’s an act of pure defiance when she actually takes the food with her, disappearing from the dark motel room with no more parting words.

 

:::

 

 _Emma Swan_ is searched in the Google tab, rows and rows of names popping up, but not _her_ Emma Swan. Her Emma Swan is a ghost, or completely adverse to social media. After an hour of stalking through too many wrong profiles, Regina officially gives up.

 

It’s been three days since she last saw Emma, her insomnia keeping her up at odd hours of the night in which she spends her time between fretting about Marian’s wedding, and wondering whether this magnetism toward Emma is based on a primal need to love something. Other children had wished for bicycles when they were younger, but Regina had always wished for something to love, her heart too big for this world as her father would say. It’s a shame he’s not alive to witness how her big heart has essentially led to her ruin.

 

The clock flashes to just after midnight, Regina going insane as she closes her eyes once again to try and get some sleep. Every day without proper rest only makes her cheeks hollow and bags form under her eyes— at this rate, she’ll have all her luggage packed under them to move across country if she doesn’t do something about those dark circles soon.

 

Looking up at the clock once again, Regina grinds her teeth together when the clock flashes 12:01 AM. There’s no technique that she’s tried that has worked so far, but she’s intelligent enough to know that it’s time to do a little introspection. Insomnia isn’t just a physical problem, not when it’s caused by stress and emotional strain too.

 

There’s a list she draws up, one simple and to the point:

 

_Possible reasons for insomnia—_

  1. Grief from being divorced
  2. The bed is cursed
  3. Emma Swan has ruined me
  4. Stress from Marian’s wedding



 

Of the four possible reasons, only one is fixable. And that is how Regina finds herself calling Emma Swan in the middle of the night again.

 

…

 

“I thought after the last time I wouldn’t see you again.”

 

Regina manages a smile, shrugging her shoulders as she wraps her coat tighter around herself. They’re sitting in Regina’s car that’s parked outside a McDonalds, a happy meal each in their hands as they watch drunken teenagers come in and out of the place. “I made a list,” she starts with, handing the modified list over to Emma who reads it with the slightest squint of her eyes.

 

“The bed is cursed?” she asks, laughing just a little before biting into her too small burger.

 

Shrugging again, Regina sips at her apple juice and sighs. “Mal—my ex-wife, she uhm,” swallowing down another sip of juice, Regina exhales through a confession that no one knows. “I walked in on her with someone else in our bed.” Maybe that piece of information was too embarrassing to share with her sister or mother, not when she’s flawed enough to have left open the door to her marriage for someone better to take her place.

 

“That sucks,” Emma breathes out, still looking down at the list that conveniently doesn’t have the item about her on there. “So you filed for divorce?”

 

Regina shakes her head, setting aside her empty juice box to pick at her fries instead. “I tried to make it work, but she didn’t want it to.” The fact that Regina is casually admitting such truths to an acquaintance astounds her, but she finds that she’s relieved now that something so bitter is out in the open.

 

A strong grip encases her hand, Emma looking on at her with a fierce protectiveness that could rival Zelena’s if possible. “She didn’t deserve you,” Emma says with conviction, making Regina almost believe that. Turning back to the list, Emma points at the third item. “This is the most solvable one, I think. Do you know why you’re stressed about Marian’s wedding?”

 

“Mal will be there,” Regina answers in a defeated whisper, “with her new girlfriend.”

 

Emma stops for a moment, folding the list back up and handing it to Regina who shoves it in the pocket of her coat. “So every time you go to sleep, you dread waking up because it’s a day closer to Marian’s wedding—a.k.a meeting your ex-wife and whore she cheated on you with.”

 

“When you put it like that…”

 

“It makes sense, right?”

 

Regina looks to Emma with an incredulous expression. “I was going to say ridiculous.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Emma takes a second bite of her burger and essentially finishes the absolutely tiny thing. If she was going to finish it in two bites, why did she ask for it in the first place? Shaking her head affectionately at Emma, Regina eats her fries and leans back into her seat, listening as Emma speaks with too much enthusiasm. “It’s stressful seeing your ex. If I had to meet any of my exes, I’d probably combust—”

 

“Mostly because they’d all ask you why you ran out on them in the middle of the night?” If Regina looks a little smug when she bites into another fry, then she’s only grateful that Emma isn’t exactly offended at the statement.

 

“Stop interrupting or else I’ll chop you up and serve fresh McRegina on the menu.”

 

Regina doesn’t interrupt, but she does smirk with a glint in her eyes that shouldn’t be as attractive as Emma’s gaping reaction makes it out to be. “As I was saying,” she continues, punching the straw into her juice box, “you need to find a way to either get _over_ it, or get _even_.”

 

“Get even?” Regina asks, that childhood need for revenge making her sit straighter in her seat. “How would I even do something like that when I can’t manage to look like a decent human being without a proper nights rest?”

 

“Simple,” Emma answers, a grin on her face as she digs around in the happy meal to produce a rip off version of a fidget spinner, “you fake it.”

 

Blinking slowly, Regina’s lips thin as she tries to figure out how that’s supposed to help at all. “Elaborate,” she demands, snatching the fidget spinner out of Emma’s hand.

 

Huffing, Emma reaches for the fidget spinner again, but Regina pulls it out of reach. She’s never been one to give up the high ground, but Emma is something else when instead of sitting back down, she lunges for the toy until they’re pressed together in the small space of the car, pale fingers wrapped around Regina’s wrist as she refuses to give up the grip on the toy. “What’s the one thing Mal doesn’t expect?” Emma asks, pushing in closer to Regina who only presses herself further against the door.

 

“For my life to crumble like it is now?”

 

Scoffing, Emma whines as Regina moves the toy from one hand to the other, shoving her left hand behind her back as Emma’s fingers trail along her spine to get to it. The feel of another body pressing against hers is intimate, the car steaming up with their heavy breathing as they fight for a fidget spinner when there’s probably one in Regina’s box too.

 

“For you to be happy,” Emma answers, prying Regina’s fingers apart with both hands, “for you to be happy _with_ someone who loves you more than she ever could.” When Emma pulls the toy out of Regina’s hands triumphantly, her smile drops as soon as she notices that it isn’t the only thing she’s manage to remove from Regina’s grip.

 

“And who would that be,” Regina asks in a whisper as they both stare at the rings in Emma’s hand, their bodies still pressed tightly together.

 

Emma’s gaze shifts from the rings to Regina’s face, noticing the lack of anger there as she takes the now useless pieces of jewellery and shoves it in her coat pocket alongside the list of her possible causes of insomnia. “ _Me_ ,” Emma answers, Regina’s eyes widening with shock.

 

“You’d do that for me?”

 

Pushing back from the intimate bubble, Emma adjusts herself in the passenger seat and spins the toy between her fingers, the red and yellow blending together as she watches it move in a perfect circle. “I’d do it to teach any cheater a lesson,” she says, and Regina berates herself for being so forward.

 

“It’s a week from now,” she informs Emma, “and we’d have to collaborate a lot of things if we want to pull this off.”

 

Emma turns to her with a smile, the same easy one that rests on her lips when she’s unbothered by anything that Regina seems to throw her way. “Don’t worry, we’ll have everything sorted out before you know it—but I can’t plan mass deceit this late in the evening. The next time you have something exciting like this to share, try calling during office hours.”

 

Laughing, Regina digs around in her happy meal and hands over her fidget spinner to Emma. “Deal,” she says, feeling relaxed about the thought of Marian’s wedding for the first time since the divorce.


	3. Coming out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Thursday already where I am, and since I won't have the time to post it during the day, have at this chapter a little earlier than usual.
> 
> I'd like to thank Alyss and Vicky for pointing out that I made Emma quite mysterious, and that my plans for her as a character shouldn't be so two dimensional. Emma's character, thankfully, begins a slow reveal from this chapter onward so I was able to fix up that oversight.
> 
> Please be warned, that this chapter is long, and takes place within a space of one day. As always, thank you for reading!

Regina doesn’t know when Emma had become someone important enough to call in the middle of the night for the sake of a list, but she finds that she likes having someone in her corner without any strings attached.

 

There are questions to be asked, things to be ironed out, and the issue of these misplaced feelings to be set aside in order for this all to work. She can’t be longing after the thought of anchoring down a commitment phobe just because there aren’t any other options available—it’s not as if Regina would consider Emma a second option regardless, but it’s the only thought that keeps her focused on the task ahead.

 

The first thing she does on this Sunday morning however, is call her sister.

 

“Good morning, sunshine!” comes the awfully cheery voice of Zelena from the other end of the line. Regina has to pull the phone away from her ear to tolerate the noise.

 

“How you can be so happy in the morning baffles me.”

 

Zelena cackles. “When you haven’t used coffee as a crutch your entire life, anything is possible.”

 

Regina glares down at the cup of coffee she’s just poured herself, wondering if mother allowed her to indulge in the rich flavours of caffeine to teach her a lifelong lesson. Hadn’t there been a few months before college where there wasn’t any coffee in the house after she had announced her decision to study education? “You tea drinkers,” she hisses, causing Zelena to laugh a little more.

 

“Tell Aunty Zelena what’s on your mind.”

 

Regina blinks at her sister’s antics, shaking her head as she takes her coffee to the patio. The day is nice enough that it’s clear outside with only the slightest nip in the air. “I’m not going to point out the flaw in your statement, but okay.” She sips from her coffee, humming at the taste. “My insomnia is—getting better at managing, somewhat.”

 

“ _Really?!_ You finally shagged that Swan didn’t you?”

 

Regina chokes on her coffee, and splutters out a, “What?! _No!_ ”

 

“Oh,” Zelena says, sounding disappointed. “Well this isn’t terribly exciting then, is it?”

 

Trust Zelena to think of nothing other than the sordid details of Regina’s sex life as entertaining. Perhaps the lack of any detail Regina supplies, even when she had been in the midst of her marriage, must make the topic a sought after one. “I’m meeting Emma again today, and we’re going to discuss some things. I think—” Regina pauses for dramatic effect, a grin spreading across her lips as the excitement from the night before makes butterflies erupt in her stomach. “I’m going to be bringing her to Marian’s wedding as _my plus one_ ,” she adds in a whisper.

 

“Emma who?” Zelena asks, effectively spoiling the moment for Regina where she had expected, _minimum_ , a squeal of delight at least.

 

Groaning, Regina takes another gulp of her coffee and curls her legs underneath her on the porch swing. The grass is wet from the morning dew, the air fresh as Regina looks out to the wild flowers lining the edges of the small garden. She had insisted they have one, but Mal had been less bothered with outdoor activities at the time and more interested in how big the bathroom should be. This little slice of heaven had been a compromise—much like their marriage if she stops to think about it now. “Swan— her first name is Emma. Can you keep up?”

 

“Swan?” Zelena draws the name out, “—is Emma? Oh my! Now I have to meet her—wait, did you say you’re bringing her as a plus one? You don’t even know her. _Regina!_ ”

 

Rolling her eyes, Regina sets her coffee cup down on the ground and runs her fingers through her hair. “What happened to the sister that told me to shag a stranger? Now you’re worried for my safety?”

 

“But I know what a snob you are, teasing you to do something you wouldn’t attempt with a ten foot pole is different from bloody inviting her to your best friend’s wedding! Are you flipping—” Regina sets the phone in her lap whilst Zelena goes into big sister mode, picking her coffee cup from the ground to finish off her now lukewarm beverage. She’s going to have to make another cup if she wants to get through this day; there’s too much to do to run on only one dosage of caffeine.

 

“…on a street corner for crying out loud! What if—”

 

“—Zelena.” Regina cuts through Zelena’s ranting, phone pressed to her ear once again. “Let’s do a late lunch together and then you can meet Emma. By then I’ll have all the details sorted out and you interrogate her as much as you want.”

 

There’s silence from the other end of the line, Regina getting up from the porch swing with her now empty mug to head toward the kitchen for a refill. “Fine,” Zelena huffs, “but you don’t get to interrupt when I ask my very important questions.”

 

“Please don’t ask her about her sex life, I beg you.”

 

“I can’t promise anything,” Zelena says, sounding too devilish for Regina’s liking. “Now stop talking to me, I have other things to do today. Ta ta!” The call is effectively cut, Regina chuckling as she sets the receiver down to complete her task of making another cup of coffee.

 

Today is going to be a long day indeed.

 

… 

 

They had agreed to meet at a cosy coffee shop next to a bookstore before ten, and Regina clutches her stomach as she looks over the menu once more. That second cup of coffee was a mistake, not when the aroma of the shop makes her want to try everything on the menu with too little space for anything that isn’t real food.

 

“Hey,” Emma says, dropping into the booth opposite Regina, her cheeks pink and flushed as if she had to run to get here on time.

 

“Hey,” Regina greets back, just a hint of amusement in her voice as she watches Emma pull her jacket off and shake her curls out. “Hungry?”

 

Grabbing the spare menu, Emma licks her lips without looking at Regina, that easy smile ever present. “Oh yeah,” she says, waving a waitress over. Regina laughs, shaking her head as she relays her own order of a chicken salad to the waitress. “What?” Emma asks, handing their menus back, never breaking eye contact with Regina who simply shrugs, a soft smile on her face that has Emma blushing.

 

“So,” Regina starts, hands clasped in front of her, “how—how are we going to do this?” She’s nervous, knee bouncing under the table as she casts her gaze around to check whether anyone might be listening in on their conversation. Emma looks to be holding in a laugh, but Regina has enough sense not to call her out on it.

 

Emma takes a breath, scratching the back of her head when the waitress returns with a glass of water with a slice of lemon in it for Regina, and a cappuccino for Emma who immediately adds sugar to the beverage. “Well, any good lie stems from the truth, so stick to it as much as possible, I guess?”

 

Regina rummages around in her bag to produce a notepad and pen, smoothing her scarf down to lean over the table as she begins to write. “I think we should start with the basics,” she says, jotting down a few thoughts, “get a few semantics out of the way.”

 

“Okay,” Emma agrees, sipping on her coffee. “What do you suggest?”

 

“Well, firstly—” Regina coughs, a blush blooming on her cheeks as she tucks her hair behind her ear. This is the part where she can get details about Emma’s life that hasn’t been revealed to her yet, but she’s tentative about broaching subjects that might upset Emma, especially when the woman has been known to run from things when it gets too uncomfortable. “Is your name really Emma Swan?” Might as well test the waters before she cannonballs into it.

 

Emma laughs, adding another packet of sugar in her coffee. “That’s my real name,” she confirms, stirring the sugar in. “And I don’t have a second name if that’s what your next question is.”

 

“No, no,” Regina denies, quickly scratching that question off her list. “My real name is Regina Mills, by the way, in case you were wondering.”

 

Sipping at her overly sweetened cappuccino, Emma weighs Regina with a heavy expression. “Mills huh,” she says, palming her cup as she chews on her bottom lip, “I’ve heard that name before.”

 

Shrugging, Regina unwraps her straw and places it into her water, dragging the glass closer to herself so that she can take a much needed sip. “I wrote a textbook,” she says nonchalantly. “Integrated organisational communication: A global perspective. That’s probably where you saw it, other than that it’s not really out there.”

 

Emma’s eyes go wide, a disbelieving grin on her face, “no way,” she says, hands over her mouth, “are you a lecturer?”

 

Regina frowns at the reaction, sitting up a little straighter at the knowledge Emma has about her career. “Yes,” she says slowly, “but how do you…?”

 

“My roommate is in your postgrad class—the marketing communications one? I’m not sure if you know August, but I think he has a crush on you.” Emma laughs like it’s funny, like any of these coincidences should make it better that they have a link somehow. The only thing it does is intensify the uneasy feeling in her stomach, the flat of her palm pressing against her abdomen where the weight of this bad idea seems to drop.

 

“Miss Swan,” she says evenly, discarding the list of questions that they haven’t really covered, “how—” She’s interrupted by the waitress bringing over their food, a club sandwich with too many fries for Emma, and Regina’s chicken salad with the dressing on the side as requested.

 

Emma turns to the waitress with a smile of gratitude, already unwrapping her serviettes from her fork and knife to lay over her jeans. “Thank you,” she says politely, but Regina’s heart is in her throat as she ignores her food entirely.

 

“Miss Swan,” she tries again, but Emma is too busy pushing her fries onto a separate saucer and squirting too much sauce on them. “ _Emma,_ ” she calls, the sound sharp against the backdrop of the bustling coffee shop that comes to a pause at her frustrated demand. Raising her hand to indicate that it’s okay, Regina turns back to Emma with a tensed jaw and fingers curled into a fist at her side. “How old are you?” she finally asks, the question said through clenched teeth.

 

The club sandwich that’s halfway to Emma’s mouth is placed back down onto the plate, a thick swallow enough for Regina to be afraid of the answer. “I just turned twenty five,” she answers slowly. “How old are you?”

 

Regina’s moment of relief that Emma is somewhat a little older than her students is cut short when the same question is directed back at her. She blanches, knowing full well that age difference between them is now a significant factor. “Much older,” she answers, jerkily unwrapping her fork and knife to place them to the side, serviette unfolded and laid across her lap as she reaches for the salad dressing.

 

“By how much?” Emma probes, not letting go no matter Regina’s attempts of silently dismissing the question. “Regina, if we’re going to do this, these are things I have to know.”

 

Had she been a little more tired perhaps, then it would have been easy to snap, to reach for the anger that Miss Swan has so effectively helped her move through in these past few weeks. She feels vulnerable without it now however, floundering for something to ground herself as she mixes the dressing into her salad. “By nine years,” she answers quietly, “I’m thirty four.”

 

The silence from the other end of the table has Regina wondering if Emma has left, but when she looks up from her salad, Emma stares at her with an unreadable expression and a touch of pink that spreads from her cheeks down to her neck. “Oh,” she says, licking her lips as she traces her gaze over Regina’s face, no doubt noticing the crows feet by her eyes or the smile lines by her mouth. “Oh,” she says again, stunned. “That, uhm, won’t be a problem. I can sell that.”

 

Nodding slowly, Regina fights with her smile until it’s nothing more than a small smirk adorning her lips, relief palpable in the way the tension eases around them. “I can say we met through my friend if—”

 

“No,” Regina cuts in, “we don’t bring my profession into this. Dating my student’s friend is going to seem unethical. We stick to our original story.”

 

“You mean the one where you parked in a really unsafe area and bit my head off for asking if you were okay?”

 

Regina rolls her eyes, stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork to bring it up to her lips. It should not please her that Emma watches how she wraps her lips around the cutlery before pulling it out clean. “No, we say we met downtown, that I had a flat and you helped me. And besides, I was fine in my car, I don’t know why you thought it safe to approach me in the first place.”

 

“I thought you were being blackmailed!” Emma laughs through her explanation, “or your car was broken down or something. How was I to know you were there to get your groove on.”

 

Regina asks, “my groove on?”

 

“You know,” Emma blushes, “get your bell rung, your Saturday night fever going?” When Regina only frowns at her, Emma leans across the table to whisper, “have sex?” and Regina chokes on her salad.

 

Grabbing her glass of water, Regina gulps down half of it before she’s splutters out a, “why do all your connotations of sex involve song titles to eighties music?” It wasn’t what she was going to say, but Emma’s shy smile and blush is worth her embarrassment. Pulling her notebook closer to herself, Regina takes note of Emma’s taste in music just in case she has to remember it.

 

“Got any more of those questions?” Emma is almost done with her sandwich, occasionally chewing on her fries that are drenched in sauce. Regina pushes her list toward Emma, satisfied for the time being to hand the reigns over as she eats. “This is a long list,” Emma says, turning the page.

 

“I’m curious,” Regina shoots back, taking another bite of her salad.

 

Wiping her sticky fingers, Emma grabs Regina’s pen, letting it hover over a few questions before she answers one. “I, uh, live with three other roommates. You know August, he’s studying toward a postgrad in communication, and his dad owns the apartment. They’re not exactly rich so he opened it up for rent. Then there’s Neal who studies video tech, and Graham who works in the police department as an intern, but he’s secretly studying art. How about you?”

 

The part about Emma living with three other men makes Regina stiffen, but then the events during the phone call she had made to Emma for the first time seems to make sense. “I live alone,” Regina says quietly. “I got the house when Mal and I divorced, but I’m thinking of selling it.”

 

Emma looks as if she had forgotten that Regina comes with heartbreak, her excitable expression dropping too quickly. “That’s cool,” she manages, focusing her attention back on the questions as Regina finishes off her salad. “My mom died when I was nineteen, and my dad…uhm,” she laughs through her nose at that, fingers running through her hair as she scans the list of questions again. Regina can’t help but feel that Emma is doing anything to avoid eye contact with her. “I didn’t really finish college when I had to start working,” she says slowly, moving past the previous topic too quickly, “but I might go back, take a few modules at a time.”

 

The _I’m sorry_ sticks to the back of her throat, because no amount of apology will help when it comes to the loss of a parent. Instead, Regina places her hand over Emma’s and squeezes. “I lost my dad a few years ago. He was my best friend, my confidant, and I was devastated when… but I figured that if I kept moving forward, made him proud, then that grief would be worth it.” They hold each other’s gazes for moment, Regina swiping her tongue along her bottom lip as she looks at Emma properly, now knowing her background and how it has come to shape her. “I’m sure your parents would be proud of you,” she says, her grip sliding from Emma’s forearm to her wrist instead, Emma shifting so that they’re holding hands in a coffee shop like a real couple.

 

“Thanks,” Emma chokes out, looking a little uneasy. She squeezes Regina’s hand tightly as if drawing strength from her before letting go. “I’m sure your dad would be proud of you too.”

 

Regina answers with a, “maybe,” shrugging her shoulders and leaning back in the booth, her eyes never leaving Emma’s face as she concentrates on the questions again.

 

“I’m bisexual,” Emma says suddenly, breaking the silence and turning their sombre mood into a completely different lane. “You wanted to know my sexuality,” she clarifies, tapping the page with the pen when Regina’s face must give away her confusion.

 

Tilting her head in acknowledgement, Regina unapologetically gestures at herself and says, “lesbian.” She’s sure someone has just choked on something in the booth behind her. The look of awe on Emma’s face however, is priceless, not when most women she knows never use the word, choosing instead to refer to themselves as gay instead.

 

Apparently that’s the showstopper when Emma closes the book of questions and returns to the rest of her fries, looking up at Regina after every second bite. She wants to say something, or ask something, but Regina simply waits, one arm slung over the back of the booth as she crosses her legs under the table, looking far too laidback for a woman who should still be hung up over a divorce and suffering from insomnia. “How—” Emma starts, but then clears her throat and mops up the remaining sauce with the three fries in her hand instead. When she’s done chewing, now cold coffee washing down her food, Emma wipes her mouth with the serviette from her lap and scrunches it into a ball to toss onto her empty plate.

 

“How are you going to take me to the wedding? I mean they must have given out invitations when you still married, wouldn’t your plus one be Mal?”

 

Clever question, Regina thinks, fingers tapping a rhythm on the leather of the booth. “We got our invitations after the divorce. Marian met Robin through Mal and I actually— Robin is Mal’s old friend and Marian is mine. When they gave out separate invitations it wasn’t exactly a big deal when we would come from different sides.”

 

Emma’s lips form an ‘ _oh’_ , impressed at how everything seems to be laid out. “So, what’s the dress code for this thing?”

 

The raise of Regina’s eyebrow is not amused, but there’s a glint in her eye that follows her out of the coffee shop once they’ve paid the bill, grabbing Emma’s arm as they walk down the street toward the nearest shopping centre.

 

…

 

“We were supposed to be planning, not shopping.” The exasperated tone of Emma’s voice is enough for Regina to chuckle quietly to herself, thumbing through racks of clothing that she thinks might fit Emma.

 

Truthfully, Regina is beginning to fear how fond she’s become of Emma, how quickly her mood can change from depressed divorcee to a woman on a mission with just the right amount of motivation. It isn’t like she’s ungrateful for the change in her emotions, but she had thought herself to pine for Mal just a little longer, not just lament on a broken marriage and the fact that she no longer wears a pretty ring on her finger. Being married had come with perks, the social status of being desired, the ability to slot the word _wife_ into every sentence and watch as men ambled away embarrassed.

 

The saddest part about the divorce wasn’t losing Mal, Regina thinks, it was losing everything around her. “You’re going to need three outfits, minimum,” Regina says, pulling out a knee length pastel pink dress with lace sleeves, “and jeans won’t make the cut.”

 

Grabbing the dress that Regina shoves through the change room curtain, Emma groans. “Why do I need three, and why are we shopping for it _now_?”

 

Regina tuts, her eye on a patterned scarf that she touches; it feels rough, too stiff. Moving on to the pile of dark denim, she pulls out a pair to hold to her waist, the ripped fabric dotted with random etchings and misplaced motifs. “Because, the wedding is on Saturday, but we’ll leave by Thursday evening to get there on Friday morning for the day before festivities. After the wedding there will be a night after celebration, although usually that’s with family and friends after sending the bride and groom off to their honeymoon.”

 

Emma pokes her head out of the change room, eyes wide when she sees what Regina is holding. “Didn’t peg you for someone with a rugged style.”

 

Picking her head up, Regina raises an eyebrow and folds the jeans over her arm. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in them, but Marian might like them. She’s always had a funky fashion sense.”

 

“Pity,” Emma says, stepping out from the change room entirely, “they’d look good on you.”

 

Whatever retort Regina has readied is cut short when she sees Emma in a dress. The colour is too light, but the style accentuates her figure, the dress stopping just above the knee with those lace sleeves that show off the obvious muscles on Emma’s arms. Regina can’t help herself when she touches Emma’s hair, winding a lock around her finger to fix a stray curl. “Something darker will do for the night before. Pair this with heels and put a curler through your hair…”

 

Emma swallows, fidgeting with the dress. “I think we should stop,” she says, Regina dropping the curl she still holds. “I mean, I can go shopping after work tomorrow, we don’t have to do it now.”

 

“Miss Swan,” Regina says softly, gripping onto Emma’s arms, “we don’t have enough time to get appropriate outfits. This looks good on you, we’ll just get you another colour and a pair of heels. You’re going to have to break into them before the wedding so they won’t pinch.” She doesn’t leave room for argument, even when Emma reaches out for her as she moves away to search through another rack of dresses.

 

This time Regina finds a floor length black dress with detail on the shoulders that seem to trail down into the sleeves. There’s a slit up the side with the same detail from the shoulders along the waistline, and Regina is instantly in love. “Try it,” Emma says from beside her, wearing a deep red version of the same dress from before, the colour attractive in ways that makes Regina’s stomach swoop.

 

“We’re shopping for you—”

 

“Do you even have three outfits yet?” The pursing of Regina’s lips is enough of an answer for Emma to sweep her arm toward the change rooms, gesturing for Regina to go on ahead.

 

She huffs, she puffs, and she undresses behind the curtain to pull on the black dress a little reluctantly. It fits like a glove, if only a little long—that’s nothing a taller pair of heels can’t solve. “Emma?” she calls when she steps out, dress hiked up in her hold as she steps out into the store. “Em—”

 

“Whoa,” comes Emma’s answering reply, both of them staring at each other as Regina releases the skirt of the dress to have the fabric fall down around her heels. “You look—you look really good in that.”

 

“And you look—” Regina licks her lips, taking in the tailored pants and blazer, the white dress shirt buttoned at the top with a tie undone. She doesn’t say anything else, her fingers clasping both ends of the tie in her hands that she begins to slowly knot together. They’re close again, close in ways that begin to mean more every time they lean in just a little. “There,” she whispers sliding the tie up to rest neatly between the collars of Emma’s shirt, “all done.”

 

Emma doesn’t turn toward the mirrors like Regina expects her to, not when her gaze has fallen to Regina’s lips and her hands have somehow settled on her hips. An awkward cough from behind them however, has them spring apart as if they’re schoolgirls caught making out in the hallways. “Get that,” Emma says again, “definitely get that.”

 

“And you… should get the suit.”

 

Looking down, Emma runs her hands down the blazer, turning to finally look at herself in the mirror where her eyes widen in surprise. “Maybe,” she says timidly, “but not for the wedding.”

 

Regina wants to ask why not, but Emma moves away from her before she can voice her question. A modest dress is grabbed instead, Emma changing into it too quickly for Regina’s liking, not when the suit is carried away by the store assistant and Emma emerges in something too plain. “I liked the suit,” she says again, “it… suited you.”

 

“Yeah, well, aside from bad puns, I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to show up to a wedding in a suit. I’m trying to compete with an ex-wife here, remember?”

 

Shaking her head at the dress that Emma is wearing, Regina slips back into her own change room and removes the surprisingly heavy gown to pull on her blue dress and coat. The thought that Emma has to compete with Mal sobers her, not when she knows Mal will arrive with style to outdo them all, her grey eyes and full lips enough for anyone to drool. Emma is no match when it comes to sexual appeal, not with her young face and easy smile that gives her the image of a baby next to Mal, who might as well be the cover model for the dirtiest gentlemen’s club to have ever existed.

 

When she throws back the curtain to find Emma back in her usual clothes, Regina blurts out, “you can’t compete with Mal,” before she can think better of it. “Mal is—Mal… you don’t know what you’re up against. It would be better not to compare yourself to her if you’re doing this.”

 

Emma looks startled for a moment, blue leather jacket squeaking as she draws her arms closer to her body, hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “Is she like, a super model or something?”

 

“No, she’s—” and it’s then that Regina realises that Emma knows nothing about Mal other than being a cheater. She won’t be able to spot Mal in a crowd, or be prepared for the smooth way in which she can dominate any situation she’s in. Emma is sure of herself in tank tops and jeans, walking the length of an unsafe street whilst trying to save damsels in distress, but put her in Regina’s world, and she might crumble at the seams. “I’ll take the gown,” she tells the shop assistant, because that’s the only thing she’s absolutely sure about in this store anymore.

 

“What do you want, Regina?” Emma asks quietly, looking older than her twenty five years as she asks all the hard questions, the ones that Regina will never have a proper answer to.

 

There’s months of backlogged sleep, a yearning to be one half of a pair, and the betrayal of not being good enough that clouds her judgement when she tries to see through it all to find the end goal. There’s too much going on, too many deceitful plans being made to make them both fall into a self-made trap. “Is this a good idea?” Regina finds herself asking.

 

Scuffing her boots along the wooden floor, Emma shrugs without meeting Regina’s eyes. “Depends,” she says in that same quiet voice, “do you want to do this to make Mal jealous so she takes you back or…?”

 

Regina wants to ask what the other option is, whether the truth behind curtain number two is any better than the first, but the thought that Mal would want her back, would be so blown away at her happiness that she drops everything to reinstate their lives to what it _should_ be has her yearning again. “I want to attend this wedding with some dignity, that’s all I want.” She knows Emma can sense the lie in her words, because she says nothing as the gown is packed up into a box and Regina hands over her debit card to pay for it. Emma takes nothing, that suit sitting back on the hanger as they leave the store with too much weighing them down, and too much left behind.

 

…

 

“Tell me about her.” Emma’s quiet demand comes as a surprise when they’ve spent the last half hour in silence, walking from store to store without going inside, Emma looking at the window displays with soft longing.

 

“Who?” Regina asks, snagging a seat on a bench, the view of a wishing fountain before them.

 

Emma pushes her further to the right on the bench, the woman sitting next to her glaring at the disturbance until Regina has made enough room for Emma to sit down. “Mal. Tell me how you met, what she’s like.”

 

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected to talk about Mal beyond the usual _she was my wife_ , but Regina finds that she doesn’t mind, not when she’s huddled beside Emma who has offered up so much for her in the past few weeks without ever asking for anything in return. “We met when I had just started out lecturing. She was the head of our cluster from another university, and I was this fumbling newbie trying to figure out how things worked.” She smiles at Emma, remembering how unsure of herself she had been at that age, how she probably wouldn’t have spared a second glance at the woman seated next to her before all of this. “She gave me her personal email if I needed any help, and I used it. The rest is history.”

 

Emma bumps into her shoulder, leaning into her side as she fishes through her jacket pocket. “So you flirted and went on dates, and you did that whole romantic thing with her?”

 

Regina scoffs, hugging the shopping bag a little closer to herself, the dull light of the day making the water in the wishing fountain look murky. “In short, yes. But I liked how intelligent she was— _is_ , that she had her life together, that she wore heels and could walk in them the entire day without complaining about her ankles hurting. There was something otherworldly about her.” The feelings of affection had come within a few weeks of knowing Mal, Regina falling in love with this older, put together version of a successful woman that could kiss her and not be sorry for it. Some of her confidence was learned from Mal, even her own personal style that she had adapted over the years to suit her body type; the way she stood, how she spoke—Mal was the mentor she couldn’t help but desire.

 

“You really love her, huh?” Emma asks, voice flat as she holds two coins in her palm, Regina turning to her sharply at the accusation.

 

“I loved the _idea_ of her,” Regina admits, “I wanted to be her, to be confident and strong. To be just as beautiful.” She turns back to the wishing fountain, one leg crossing over the other as she unconsciously leans into Emma. “But sometimes that isn’t enough.”

 

Emma remains silent, the muscles of her hand tense as it rests against Regina’s arm. They sit staring at the wishing fountain for longer than appropriate, Emma forgoing her questions or playful attitude to contemplate Regina’s words.

 

There’s a coin placed in Regina’s palm, Emma vacating her seat to have a child replace her spot next to Regina instead. Tense muscles under a blue leather jacket relax after a few moments, Emma’s own coin tossed into the wishing fountain before she turns to Regina with a tentative smile, waiting patiently as Regina stands up to approach her.

 

Regina asks softly, “did I offend you?” Her shopping bag bumps against her hip when she turns to face Emma, coin held in her free hand.

 

“No,” Emma answers slowly, tucking her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, “you just made me think is all.” Searching her face for any distress, Regina aches when she sees a troubled gaze and the slight downturn of Emma’s lips. “We should—” Emma inclines her head toward another row of stores, stepping backward and leaving Regina behind at the wishing fountain.

 

She takes a moment of silence, eyes closed as she finds something worth wishing for. Numerous things come to mind, things that are material and emotional but too shallow. Bringing the coin up to her lips, Regina exhales against the nickel and tucks the coin into her coat pocket, leaving behind the wishing fountain with nothing worth asking for.

 

…

 

Time drags when they’re not talking, when Emma gives her curt nods or grunts in response to simple questions that would usually have her teasing and flirting too close to something that seems shattered.

 

“My sister wants to meet you,” Regina tries, tired of walking aimlessly with a woman who might just abandon her to this wedding and run for the hills.

 

Emma finally responds, “the same sister that wants me to sleep on a couch?”

 

Regina could cry in relief, a too wide smile on her face as she bumps into Emma’s shoulder playfully. “Please, the only Mills couch you’re going to be sleeping on is _mine_.”

 

Emma’s eyebrow raises at that, a smirk on her face as she bumps Regina’s shoulder back. “Are you jealous of your own sister?”

 

“What? _No_.” The denial comes too fast, too bitter and tinged with possessiveness. Emma’s answering laugh is loud and unabashed, one arm slung around Regina’s shoulder to bring her close as they walk. There’s a moment when Regina feels herself laughing too, tucked under Emma’s arm as the bold woman presses a kiss to her cheek, the action innocent and carefree.

 

Emma says into her ear, “you are so _cute_ ,” releasing Regina to leave her behind as she walks ahead toward a candy stand. Regina presses her fingers to her cheek, touched and both alarmed at the simple action that has pushed them from acquaintances to friends. She should be offended, but Regina finds that she can do little else but tuck her hand into her coat pocket, the unused coin cool against her fingers.

 

“She wants to meet you today,” Regina calls after Emma, quickening her pace to catch up, “I said we could have a late lunch together if that’s okay?”

 

Emma buys two lollipops, handing one to Regina wordlessly as she unwraps her own. The childish glee on her face as she treasures something as simple as a sweet has Regina look on at her with a soft gaze. “You said this wedding is on Friday, right?”

 

“Saturday,” Regina corrects, struggling with her own lollipop, but too prideful to ask for help. “We’ll leave on Thursday evening to get there by Friday.”

 

Shrugging, Emma watches Regina fight with the lollipop wrapper, an amused smile on her face as she pulls her own sweet from her mouth to point it at Regina. “Might as well meet her today. I’m going to be meeting all your other friends at the end of the week anyway— and do you need help with that?” Regina’s wide eyes as she looks up from the wrapper that refuses to budge is enough for Emma to raise her eyebrows in question, putting the lollipop back into her mouth to free her hands.

 

It takes less than a second for Emma’s experienced fingers to rip off the wrapper, but Regina’s huffy, “thank you,” says more than the begrudging gratitude is meant to, not when everything Regina has held herself up to be goes down in flames the moment she shoves the lollipop in her mouth, equal parts pleased and childlike again at the simple gift. “Will you let me get you a suit?” she asks out of nowhere, needing to give back in some way that Emma might accept.

 

“You really liked that suit, huh?” Emma teases, taking the shopping bag from Regina’s hands as they move away from the candy stand.

 

“ _You_ liked it,” Regina argues, reaching for the bag to carry her own weight, but Emma pulls it back out of her grip. “And if we’re going to keep walking aimlessly, the least I can do is this.”

 

Emma regards her with her head tilted to the side, an amused smile on her face that makes Regina think of her like a puppy—a thought similar to the one she had when they first met. “I thought we were walking around because you wanted to,” she says eventually. “You don’t know what to do with me in broad daylight, do you?”

 

Emma has no problem calling Regina out on her lack of experience with this, but her feathers are still bristled enough to fire up a sharp remark. “I know perfectly well—”

 

“Okay fine,” Emma interrupts, the sweet tucked into her cheek as she speaks over it, “we’re pretending to be dating at this wedding, and if this was an interview, then you’re flunking. _Badly_.”

 

Regina frowns, removing the lollipop from her mouth to hold between her fingers. It tastes too sweet, the paper stick bending under her grip. “I didn’t know this was an interview.”

 

Emma rolls her eyes, swishing her lollipop to the corner of her mouth with her tongue. “I mean, we’re going to be at a wedding in a few days, we already know the basics about each other, but no one is going to buy that we’re a couple unless we act like it.” Emma shrugs nonchalantly, pulling the stick free from the lollipop to convert it into a hard candy instead. The crunch of the sweet in her mouth has Regina wince, but she’s at a crossroads with this, too nervous to do anything more than wrap up her own lollipop and shove it into her coat pocket alongside the unused coin.

 

She’s supposed to be a hopeless romantic, but every cliché under the sun has her groan at the predictability of it. Regina has to essentially sweep Emma off her feet, not… stand around a shopping centre hoping for too much. “You’re right,” she laments, “I don’t know what to do with you in broad daylight.”

 

At that, Emma laughs, drawing the attention of a few people around her. “How have you been sleeping?” Emma asks instead, Regina looking at her with a sigh.

 

“Better,” she admits, “although not entirely great.” Emma checks her watch at the admission, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

 

Regina doesn’t know what she’s waiting for, not when Emma looks over at her with a smile that could melt butter, and a nod of her head that Regina immediately follows. She’s one step behind Emma as they walk through the shopping village, her hand clasped in Emma’s as she leads her through throngs of people toward the parking lot. “Let’s do something fun,” Emma urges, her grip on Regina’s hand still achingly tight.

 

“Fun?” Regina asks, eyebrows pulled into a frown. “It’s Sunday, there’s barely anything open for fun.”

 

Emma’s wicked grin should scare her, but Regina finds herself surprisingly enthralled by it, allowing herself to be lead into the unknown.

 

:::

 

“You can’t be serious,” Regina scoffs, refusing to get out of her car. From beside her, Emma simply laughs, gesturing before them at the cinema that looks barely put together.

 

Emma says, “maybe you might know what to do with me in the dark,” as if this will solve all of their awkwardness (as if it will stop Regina’s cheek from burning where she had carelessly kissed before). “Besides, this is what people do on a date, you know? Food, a movie, whatever else they can think of.”

 

The _whatever_ _else_ makes Regina’s eye twitch, but she reminds herself not to overthink this. An interview is all this is, a test to see whether the duties listed on the job description is something she can handle—looking over at Emma however, she sincerely doubts her abilities. “Fine,” she reluctantly agrees, pulling her keys from the ignition, “but if they’re playing anything less than decent—”

 

“We’re out of there in a flash,” Emma interrupts, raised eyebrows the only indicator of her amusement at Regina’s hesitation. Swallowing, Regina fists her keys in her hand and takes a deep breath. This is only a movie anyways, and the last time she had entered a cinema had been over a year ago to watch something ridiculously gruesome; she deserves the treat if she says so herself.

 

Walking up to the ticket counter should not feel so empowering, but Regina breathes in the scent of popcorn and salt, her money pushed across the counter to the one and only viewing available. She doesn’t care to find out the name, only that Emma had been excitable about it, blathering on about what a classic it is and then proceeding to shove Regina aside in her haste to get to the popcorn stand. Regina can’t remember if she answered Emma’s faraway question of what beverage she’d like to have, but a paper cup is thrust into her hands the moment she steps away from the ticket stand.

 

“I figured you wouldn’t mind a coke?” Emma says uncertainly, “since that’s what you ordered at the diner…” she trails off awkwardly, hand hovering between the cup Regina holds and the one large popcorn balanced against her abdomen.

 

Regina manages a smile, swallowing thickly to get rid of the sudden bout of emotion that sits at the back of her throat. This isn’t a first date, no matter how anyone may perceive it, but the jittery feeling in her stomach almost makes her want to enjoy this—there isn’t any crime in that, is there? “This is fine, thank you.” Her words fall flat, rasped around a notorious lump of _feelings_. Handing over the tickets to avoid any more conversation that might linger on why her eyes are suspiciously shiny, Regina turns her attention to the man tearing the paper in half, his faraway voice barely reaching her ears as she reaches to take the chits back.

 

Regina Mills does not cry, not over a cup of cold drink and the fact that a stranger might’ve remembered her drunken order from a night that’s a little hazy. What Regina is, she thinks, pinching the bridge of her nose when she realises that she’s speaking to herself in third person, is so very _tired_.

 

“You okay?” Emma asks, nudging her side as they descend the stairs toward their supposed seats. At this point, Regina is blindly following Emma, only barely tripping on a stair before her balance is regained by a strong grip on her forearm. “Regina?” Emma asks again, a concerned lilt to her voice.

 

This is a date—a pretend date, and Regina is ruining it with her nerves and exhaustion. The theatre looks well kept, black plush seats hidden in the dim lighting that seems almost romantic, and Regina’s eyes drift closed of their own accord. Between Emma and the atmosphere, she’s not doing a very good job of staving off the comfort that beckons sleep. “I’m fine, dear,” she husks out, gripping Emma’s arm in the pretence of needing help to navigate her way over people’s legs. When they finally make it to their seats smack in the middle of the theatre, Regina huffs out a relieved breath and sinks into the leather that reminds her of a bubble bath with her lover pressed against her back.

 

Emma shifts from beside her, clearing her throat before she speaks again. “You sure you’re okay?”

 

Nodding, Regina opens her eyes to turn to Emma, the dim light from the cinema highlighting her hair to have her side profile glow. Tracking her gaze down over Emma’s face, over her shoulders and down her arms, it’s then that she realises that she hasn’t quite released Emma from her iron grip. “Sorry,” she whispers, pulling her hand back too quickly, her elbow catching on the armrest.

 

Looking at her quizzically, Emma holds her gaze for a second before reluctantly turning back to the screen. The air is heavy between them, filled with the awkwardness that Regina had thought they were well past by now. They’ve slept in the same bed together, shared things with each other that the people considered closest to them might not even know, and yet, Regina can’t bring herself to be anything more than stiff in the presence of Emma Swan during daylight.

 

“What are we watching?” she finds herself asking, her elbow resting on their shared armrest with no room for Emma.

 

Emma shrugs, snagging whatever little space there is on the armrest, her shoulder pressing against Regina’s. “The Lion King,” she says softly, reverence in the way she says it, as if daring Regina to mock her.

 

Whatever energy she might’ve had to scoff and call the animation childish is depleted, and instead, Regina finds herself looking over the hunched form of the woman foolish enough to help her. This whole _thing_ is ridiculous, yet this pretence gives way to a yearning that she’s buried for a year now, of being a supportive half instead of a bitter divorcee. “A classic,” she says in response, and Emma’s bright smile is enough for Regina to know that she still has it.

 

…

 

“Stop staring,” Emma whispers in her ear, but Regina can’t help it.

 

She says, “how—this is an _animation_!” but all Emma can do is laugh at her, cool fingers pressing against her cheek to turn her attention back to the screen. There’s nothing remotely interesting going on, not with the little lion jumping on the dark haired lion, and— how can anyone be _necking_ during this?! “I can still hear them,” she hisses over a quiet moan.

 

Snorting, Emma slides down further into the leather seat, now using more than half of the armrest with her wrist over Regina’s to prevent anyone’s hands from falling off. “You’re the romantic,” she says smugly, “you’d know why they’re making out during a cartoon.”

 

And okay, maybe if she was here with her significant other, she’d take advantage of the situation too—but Regina is bitter, and lonely, and just a little too riled up to be appreciative of anyone else having a good time during her pretend date. Looking up again at the couple, Regina growls low in her throat, Emma flinching from beside her. “Easy,” Emma whispers, her voice soothing, calming in ways that makes Regina believe she must be really good with customers.

 

A few minutes pass, but eventually Regina tears her gaze away, although the wet sounds coming from behind them are a little more vulgar now. The little lion is trapped, there are beasts running after him, and Regina can hear the sharp intake of breath from Emma. _Simba!_ a larger lion calls, and Regina can barely keep up with all these characters, not when Emma grips her hand in a fierce hold, her jaw tense and shoulders climbing up to her ears. Behind her, the moans get louder, and between _oh baby just like that_ , she has to listen to _Dad, wake up, please._ The contrast is jarring, a headache forming between her eyes as she tries to concentrate on the movie, Emma’s hand squeezing the life from hers, and the climax happening behind her.

 

“Oh for fucks sake!” she breathes harshly, Emma going still beside her.

 

The cinema is oddly silent, only _run away Simba, and never come back_ , echoing around them. From behind her, she can hear muttering, the shuffling of fabric as the couple stills. Regina doesn’t know if she had been loud enough, but Emma’s words in her ear has her go rigid. She says, “you made them uncomfortable, they think we’re… you know, now.”

 

Somehow, impossibly, she feels the lightness of humour bubble up from her chest, and before she can stop herself, there are giggles escaping her lips that are barely concealed with her free hand clamped over her mouth. It’s contagious, and Emma giggles along with her, tears running down their faces as she takes in heavy breaths, a “ _oh_ _god_ ,” coming out in a groan that makes the couple behind them uncomfortable enough to get up and leave.

 

It only makes her laugh harder.

 

“Shh,” Emma soothes after a while, running her thumb along the back of her hand, “you’re missing the important parts." It’s that action that finally has her calm down, her smile fading away with the comfort of being held like this. “He’s my favourite,” Emma says after a while, nodding at the meerkat. Regina supposes she could see the appeal; a fatherly figure with a sense of humour, willing to do almost anything for the safety of his adopted child.

 

Saying nothing, Regina allows herself to get lost in the movie, the images flashing across the screen even if she doesn’t really pay attention to them. All she can feel is how warm Emma’s hand is in hers, how the fabric of her coat heats up at every little contact with Emma’s leather jacket. She considers removing her coat, but that would mean slipping her hand out of Emma’s grasp, and she’s not entirely sure she’s ready to do that just yet.

 

On screen, the little lion grows as he crosses some magical log bridge that only allows him to age, the warthog and meerkat remaining absolutely unaffected. The whole thing is ridiculous, but that might be due to her lack of concentration on the movie, and the fact that she’s more concerned with how her palm is beginning to sweat under Emma’s hold. Beside her, Emma laughs at something, and Regina’s eyes snap up from their intertwined fingers to the screen. “The best love story ever told,” Emma whispers in her ear, and maybe Regina’s heart beats twice its speed.

 

“Two lions in a jungle?” Regina questions.

 

Emma quips back with, “best friends to lovers,” and Regina isn’t sure whether to agree or not—not when the lions are now… hugging? Necking? _Mating_?!

 

The answer to how couples can get it on during this movie is promptly answered during a song that has the two lions tumble down a hill and land on top of each other. It’s disturbingly romantic, and yet Regina still feels herself lean further onto Emma’s shoulder, her fingers flexing in the hold that seems to get tighter with every passing scene.

 

The lioness leaves in a huff, Emma swallowing thickly to disguise the shine in her eyes at the serious turn of events. Regina can’t help but stare at her, tracing the curve of her jaw with her gaze, caressing her cheek with shallow breaths that deepen the longer she looks.

 

Somehow, during all of that, Regina finds herself resting on Emma’s shoulder, leather imprinting onto her cheek as her eyes close and the screen before her fades away.

 

…

 

She awakens with a jerk, a sharp pain in her neck and an embarrassing wet patch on her cheek. Wiping the drool away with her hand, Regina groans as she fishes for her phone in her coat pocket. The cinema is dimly lit again, the credits on the large screen rolling before it goes blank entirely. “Here, let me help,” a voice says from beside her, brushing against her fingers as her phone is pulled free from her coat.

 

“Hullo?” Regina groggily answers, covering her eyes with her hand. “Zelena?” she husks, her hand moving down to slide around her neck, softly massaging the sore muscles as she rights herself in the leather seat. “I don’t think… okay, I’ll—no, I’m… alright. Bye.”

 

Holding her phone between her fingers, the device dangling over the seat, Regina runs a hand through her hair and stretches. “How long…?”

 

“About thirty minutes,” Emma answers, her voice clear now that Regina is awake, a voice that does not belong to her ex-wife, nor fit into this sleepy fantasy of watching a movie at home and cuddling up after a long day. The reality of her situation strikes her without remorse, wide eyes finally focusing on Emma who looks too flushed, too attentive, too— too easy to love.

 

Discretely, or as discretely as she can manage with Emma watching her every move, Regina fishes out some tissues from her bag and wipes away all evidence of sleep from her face. Her hair is fluffed out, and her coat is finally removed to cool down her heated skin. “Sorry,” she says stiffly, “if I made you uncomfortable…”

 

Shrugging one shoulder, Emma sets aside the empty popcorn box and offers up Regina’s untouched cold drink. “It’s fine,” she says softly, “I enjoyed the movie anyways.” A touch of disappointment lingers in her speech, but Regina doesn’t comment on it when she gulps down the cold drink that tastes horrible now that the ice has melted into it. “Next time we go on a date, I hope you’re conscious for it.”

 

At this, Regina nearly chokes, because she had been convinced that Emma would end whatever this is; there isn’t another twenty five year old who would suffer through so much just for the sake of an insomniac older woman. “Oh?’ she settles for instead, trying not to look too excited, “maybe the next time we go on a date, I’ll pick something more exciting than animated lions.”

 

Emma laughs harshly, pushing up from her seat. “You said it was a classic!”

 

Unable to out herself for never having seen this movie before, Regina simply rolls her shoulders and takes Emma’s offered hand to pull herself up from the chair. “My sister still wants to do lunch,” she says, trying to distract Emma.

 

“Oh.” Yes, _oh_ indeed. Regina isn’t sure she has any energy left for anything else today, not when she’s got too much to prepare for and too much to think about. “Are you up for it today?” Emma asks, her hand warm against Regina’s back as she guides her out of the cinema.

 

Sighing, her car keys jingling as she retrieves them, Regina shakes her head. “Maybe some other time?” At this Emma tersely nods, hands in her pockets as she rocks on the heels of her feet. “Tomorrow?” Regina asks, “We can do dinner after you’re done with work?” She thinks she imagines Emma’s relieved smile, but Regina isn’t willing to delve into this very platonic _thing_ too deeply.

 

Emma says, “sure,” stepping back onto the pavement without any indication that she might be getting back into Regina’s car.

 

Hesitating, a significant glare sent Emma’s way, Regina waits for the silent question of giving Emma a lift to be answered. When nothing else but a tense silence follows, she sighs in defeat and gestures to the passenger seat. “I can drop you home?” she says, the statement coming out as a question instead.

 

Shaking her head, Emma waves Regina off. “No need,” she says, “I live nearby.”

 

“I insist.” This is the least Regina can do, especially after that thirty minute nap that allows her to smile just a little easier. She won’t be attempting to watch The Lion King anytime soon, but she can’t say that she didn’t have fun. “It’s getting dark out,” she teases, “I promise I won’t be as awkward with you when the sun sets.”

 

This is _flirting_ —not because Regina might just like Emma, but because Regina simply can’t help herself. She was born to be a lover, and no matter the amount of times she reminds herself that Emma isn’t going to be a replacement for anything or anyone, the flirtatious edge to her personality still dances around them both.

 

Chuckling down at her shoes, like Regina has just cracked the joke of the century, Emma shakes her head and smiles up at her. It should be illegal to look this good, not with the sun setting behind her and her hair glowing, not with her eyes alight and full of affection that Regina should not be on the receiving end of. “I’ll walk,” Emma says softly, the room for any argument promptly erased. “Good night, Regina.”

 

“Good night,” Regina whispers back, finally sliding down into the driver’s seat, where she begins the process of starting the car to make her own way home, whilst trying not to stare at Emma’s retreating back.


	4. Illness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably the most difficult one I've had to write- I think I changed things around five times before I was satisfied with the outcome. I apologise in advance for the angst, but I think it's going to thin out after this.
> 
> Thank you to Emma_Swan for all your insightful comments and pointing out the questions that a reader would have. Hopefully I've managed to answer some of them in this chapter. Also a very special thank you to Vicky (DelicatePoem) who helped shape this chapter by making me write Emma as someone with better motivations than I had planned.
> 
> And _thank you_ , dear reader, for following and supporting this story through your kudos and comments! Without further ado, please enjoy this monster of an update

“I still cannot believe I had to shuffle things around for you— again.” Zelena leans against the kitchen counter, a glass of chardonnay in her hand that tips too close to spilling.

 

Lifting the glass up with her index finger alongside a significant glare sent her sister’s way, Regina passes by Zelena to set the crockery on the table. She’s brought out her best set, the one with hand painted roses and gold trimmings. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to,” she retorts, sounding distracted even as she convinces herself not to overdo it. It’s only Emma, and she probably won’t focus on the delicacy of the silverware with Zelena interrogating her.

 

Huffing, Zelena strides past her to straighten the fork Regina has just put down, the glass of wine leaning with her as she angles herself to better judge her handiwork. “You’re adamant about this, and so I have to cover my bases. If I don’t ask the important questions, you might as well blush and let her give you an STD.”

 

Regina gapes, offended at the statement. “Zelena!” she scolds, “I don’t understand how you can go from pushing me toward her, to now protecting me from her.” Grabbing the fork from Zelena’s hand, Regina sets it down forcefully on the table and retreats to the kitchen. Had she managed to put herself to sleep the night before, the kitchen might be in a disaster, and the amount of food that she had been able to make would have never seen the light of day. As it is, she has too much to only feed three people, not with one roast chicken, her famous lasagne dish, apple turnovers, and a chocolate cake for some reason she can’t justify.

 

The sound of Zelena following her makes her jaw clench, not because she’s irritated at Zelena’s flip-flopping position when it comes to Emma, but because she’s highly intuitive, and there is something within herself that she’s not ready to face yet. “Are you —”

 

“I don’t want to know,” Regina interrupts, her back turned to Zelena as she checks the temperature of the lasagne. “Whatever it is, I’m dealing with it, and I know this is petty and childish, but this…” she takes a breath, facing Zelena with her fingers curling behind her on the counter. Her grip is tight, bruising in ways that speak aloud what she’s too afraid to say.

 

Zelena nods, finally sipping from her wine that’s been more for show than anything else. “You have more than this,” Zelena says delicately, her voice soft and directed down to her glass rather than at her sister, “you are more than just half of her.”

 

It’s supposed to be inspiring, something to have her walls crack, and some sort of positive emotion pour out from beneath the broken pieces of her heart—but all Regina wants to do is throw her sister’s wine across the room and scream until she wears out her voice. There’s an instant, a spark of something when she steps forward to do just that, and Zelena actually looks a little afraid before the sound of the doorbell stops anything from escalating.

 

Zelena says, “the door, Regina,” sounding the most timid Regina has ever heard her.

 

Clearing her throat, fingers running through her hair, she rasps out a, “right,” before moving toward the incessant sound. The excitement, the nervous flutter of anticipation that should be making its way through her stomach is missing. Instead, it’s replaced by a burning rage that doesn’t attack a specific thing, not when Zelena’s well placed words have her grasping for any sense of control she can get her hands on.

 

When she opens the door however, Regina finds herself completely disarmed. “Hi,” Emma says, the taxi behind her zooming past without any care for the state that Regina finds herself in.

 

She takes a moment to gather herself, for her gaze to slide up from black heeled pumps and smooth, pale legs that seem to go on forever, to a black pencil skirt that hugs Emma’s figure and keeps the blue button-down shirt tucked into its place. Her hair pulled back into a ponytail, Regina can ogle shamelessly at the slender curve of Emma’s neck that disappears into sharp collarbones decorated with a thin gold necklace. “I came straight from work, I hope you don’t mind?”

 

Regina doesn’t mind, not when Emma looks flushed, and dishevelled, and so beautiful like this. She looks like— like she’s meant to hand Regina her bags, press a kiss to her cheek, and ask what’s for dinner— like she _belongs_ here. “That’s fine,” Regina rasps, “you look…” her eyes rove over Emma’s figure once more, her grip on the door tightening the longer she wracks her brain for something appropriate to say. “Good,” she settles on lamely.

 

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” Emma says easily, and Regina self-consciously runs her palm down the green blouse that matches Emma’s eyes. It’s not like she fretted about what to wear in her own house without looking ridiculous—the dress and heels combo she knew would make Emma’s eyes drift down to her legs had to be discarded, and instead, Regina stands before her in jeans and wedges that borders on just a touch too dressy.

 

Stepping aside to allow Emma entry, Regina takes Emma’s light jacket and ushers her inside. The day had started off with a nip in the air, but by the afternoon had become warm enough to allow Regina to roam without a sweater. Spring presses down on them, and Marian couldn’t have chosen a better week to be married if she says so herself. “Would you like something to drink?” Regina asks, depositing Emma’s jacket on the arm of a nearby couch. She hasn’t gotten around to buying a coatrack, not needing it when the house doesn’t have any corners to spare between the front door and lounge.

 

Shifting from foot to foot, Emma pushes her hair behind her ears and looks sheepish before asking, “do you mind if I use your bathroom?”

 

Stinging just slightly at the subtle rejection and the lingering awkwardness between them, Regina nods her head and gestures to the narrow passage. “Of course,” she says, “it’s the first door on your left down the passage.” The house is averagely sized, and she doubts Emma will get lost when the majority of the space is taken up by the open plan lounge and dining room area. Although, should Emma venture further down the passage, she’d probably find the master bedroom, and guestroom that they had converted into a study when the room had become redundant. Regina only hopes that she managed to safely throw her multiple outfit choices back into the wardrobe without any of them spilling out.

 

Releasing a shaky exhale, Regina makes a beeline toward the kitchen—the only room of the house that had become her sanctuary after the divorce. “So?” Zelena greets her with, already picking at the cheese she had set aside for the lasagne.

 

“So, what?” Regina grunts, busying herself to keep her hands distracted from fidgeting.

 

Zelena sighs, taking the grater from Regina’s hands to finish up the last minute touches to the lasagne. “Where is she?” The question is simple enough, yet Regina grinds her molars together in agitation.

 

Watching Zelena carefully, her eyes burning with the strain to stay open, Regina leans against the kitchen counter and finally gives up trying to be stoic. “She’s in the bathroom. I suppose she wants to wash up—she did just come straight from work.”

 

“Ah,” Zelena says, like she understands something that Regina doesn’t—which is ridiculous really, because they haven’t even met, and yet Regina’s the one trying to put the pieces of Emma Swan together despite sleeping in the same bed with her for all of ten minutes. “She’s probably nervous, poor thing.”

 

_Poor thing_ , like Regina’s the unknown in this equation, like she’s the one with secrets about where she lives and what she does for a living. It's not like Regina is taking Emma to her best friend’s wedding where her entire life will be cracked open or anything. “I can’t—” Regina bites out, holding her emotions too close to her chest. She knows this unhinged feeling is due to her lack of sleep, but no matter her attempts to remind herself that whatever she’s feeling isn’t necessarily true to her personality, it doesn’t just go away when everything feels too _real_. “I’m going to check on her,” is the excuse she uses to escape Zelena’s curious gaze, her fingers curled into fists at her side as she steps out of the kitchen into the dining room.

 

Emma stands patiently in the lounge, gaze casting around the walls where meaningless paintings have been hung up in the place of photographs that used to live there. “These are nice,” she hears Emma say, her voice soft and gentle against Regina’s tumultuous moods.

 

The paintings don’t match the colour of the walls, the frames odd shapes and sizes in a hurry to cover the stains left behind from wedding pictures and vacation snapshots she had torn down in her grief. Any compliment given to them then, isn’t exactly founded. Sliding in next to Emma with every intention of continuing the conversation, Regina finds herself with a dry throat, and itchy fingers that she folds over her chest. “Would you like something to drink?” she finds herself asking again after too long, jaw tense and gaze trained on a hideous watercolour painting.

 

“Sure,” Emma answers, Regina turning to face her for the first time since she emerged from the bathroom. Her face is scrubbed free of whatever makeup she had been wearing previously, hair slicked back tidily into the ponytail that was lopsided before, and the long sleeves of her button down are now rolled up above her elbows. “Non-alcoholic, please.”

 

Nodding, Regina steps back with only the slightest hint of alarm. Emma has gathered herself, placed several walls in front of her like she’s attending an interview, and Regina feels bare in front of all of this. Fetching two glasses from the kitchen where Zelena has finished tidying up, Regina takes steadying breaths as she pours a healthy amount of grape juice into each glass.

 

“Do you need more time?” Zelena asks, folding the dishtowel in half and sliding it down to hang along the oven door.

 

Licking her lips to stall for time, Regina shakes her head and breathes out a chuckle. “You’re too perceptive for your own good,” she mutters under her breath, placing the drinks on a tray to take outside. “Bring your wine, I’ll introduce you.” She doesn’t wait for Zelena to follow her, not when everything seems to churn inside her stomach with no good reason.

 

“I hope grape juice is okay?” the uncertainty surrounding Emma intensifies when she doesn’t have the chance to hear Emma’s response, not when Emma is standing up to greet Zelena with a tinge of pink on her cheeks, all her attention now focused on the redhead with looks that are far more superior than Regina’s.

 

Sticking out her hand, Zelena smiles widely at Emma. “You must be the infamous Swan,” she says smoothly in her charming accent. Regina stiffens at the way Emma smiles back, how she looks almost relieved to be distracted from a conversation about whether grape juice is to her liking or not.

 

“And you must be the sister who wanted to meet me—Regina never mentioned your name, I’m sorry.”

 

Zelena laughs at this, her hand casually resting on Regina’s shoulder who stands there uselessly. “I’m sure Regina had other, more interesting things to discuss than her sister, but it’s Zelena if you must know.” Emma laughs at this, blushing only slightly as she sips from her drink to avert her gaze from Zelena’s face. Regina isn’t sure what the burning at the pit of her stomach means, but she doesn’t like it one bit.

 

…

 

The food goes quickly, everything tasted and complimented to which Regina only nods in acknowledgement at. She isn’t sure why her mood is so sour now, not when she’s had the entire day to fret and moan about how much of cooking and cleaning she had to do. Looking up from her plate at the image of Emma and Zelena smiling at each other however, Regina knows exactly why she wants this dinner to end quickly.

 

“So,” Zelena starts, picking at the serviette by her side, “Regina said you work in customer service?” She’s had half an hour of interrogation time, but all Zelena has done is chat with Emma about mundane things that Regina hadn’t the energy to concentrate on—the fact that Zelena dives into this part of the evening so late makes Regina grit her teeth, not when such delicacy means that her sister might like Emma.

 

Swallowing down a mouthful of grape juice, Emma nods as she sets the glass back down. “Yeah,” she says easily, shrugging one shoulder. “It was the only job I could find that didn’t need much experience at the time, and then over the past five years I managed to move from the sales department to the customer service end.”

 

Zelena looks impressed, sending a significant eyebrow raise in Regina’s direction before returning to their guest. “Have you considered going into something else?”

 

Emma scoffs, gaze darting between Regina and Zelena with only a hint of concern. “I've tried, but my credentials are not the best. I don’t have managerial experience or a degree so…” she trails off, looking awkward about discussing herself for too long. “And what is it that you do?”

 

Leaning back in her chair, Zelena smiles thinly. From across the table, Regina begins to sweat, both parts afraid and intrigued at what's about to happen next. She knows her sister, knows how seriously she can delve into the little things that can make the most pompous of people nervous— Emma in the firing line won't stand a chance. "Dessert, anyone?" she tries, but Zelena speaks over her.

 

She says, "I have my own practice," although doesn't elaborate further on it, not when she's too busy scrutinizing Emma's every move. "I hope you don't mind, Emma," Zelena continues, moving her wineglass away from the edge of the table, "but I just _have_ to know how you tolerate being friends with Regina." It's said with an air of jest, a too wide smile on Zelena's face as she makes light of a situation to gain insight into Emma's thoughts.

 

Chuckling, although the muscles in her neck seem tense, Emma shrugs off the question charmingly. "Regina is very entertaining," Emma answers with, casting an apologetic look in Regina's direction and frowning when she probably sees a hint of concern rather than anger on her friend's face.

 

The skin by the corner of Zelena's eyes crinkle when she smiles, forcing it too much to seem like she gets the joke. "Is that why you agreed to accompany her to Marian's wedding?"

 

Silence settles over the table after that, Regina lamenting the dessert that will go to waste in her kitchen. Truthfully, other than the vague notion of Emma helping her because of the way Regina looks, and the idea that she might need someone, there isn't any solid motivation as to why Emma still sticks by her. Is this a long con, where Emma will worm her way into Regina's heart and marry her for whatever measly wealth she has? Is this a game where she will brag to her roommates about making the communications professor fall in love with her? or perhaps there's something else more sinister at play, something that might turn her life upside down all because Regina couldn't will herself to sleep.

 

"You don't beat around the bush, do you?" Emma laughs at the tension in the room, her empty plate pushed forward in a subtle show of insult. Regina knows for sure now that Emma won't eat anything else from her house tonight. "If you must know," she says after some time, meeting Zelena's gaze, "I'm going for the free food. It's been a while since I attended a wedding."

 

_Attitude_. There's so much of it spilling from Emma, that Regina and Zelena both wince at it. Such mannerisms before Cora would have resulted in a stiff call to the bedroom, and then a harsh disciplining that would render them unable to sit for a day. Although as they both got older, the leather belt was put away, and Cora resorts now to emotional blackmail that leaves a greater sting than before.

 

The smile that sits on Zelena’s face falls abruptly, all notions of liking Emma washing away as she reaches for her wineglass again. The glass is emptied, set delicately back down, and Zelena only takes a breath before Regina jumps up to save her guest. “Would you like some chocolate cake, Emma?” she asks, sounding too hurried.

 

A grimace adorns Emma’s lips when she looks up at Regina, a slight shake of her head to make Regina aware of her refusal. Regina gets up from her place at the table anyways, shrugging off Emma’s answer to pick up their empty plates instead. “I have apple turnovers too. Zelena,” she calls, “come help me.” Perhaps she puts too much of force into the request, but Zelena reluctantly takes their empty glasses and follows her to the kitchen.

 

“You’re being rude,” Regina hisses, too tired to try and soften the blow.

 

Zelena sets the empty cups down into the sink and scoffs. “Do you blame me for asking the relevant questions? Who drops everything to follow a recent divorcee with substantial wealth?”

 

Dropping the plates into the sink next to the glasses, the clatter of them loud enough to alert Emma, Regina stills for a moment to listen to whether their guest will make to check on them. When no such thing happens, Regina goes right back to scolding her sister. “She’s a nice person,” she whispers, reaching down to pull the apple turnovers from the oven. “There are people in this world who would do nice things for others—and if we were dating, you wouldn’t be hounding her for her reasons, now would you?” Because the motivations would be clear, and sometimes Regina feels like the line between friend and something more blurs for her.

 

Running her hands down her face in frustration, Zelena pushes Regina aside to pull the apple turnovers out of the oven herself, dusting them with icing sugar to keep her hands busy. “I won’t apologise for keeping your best interests at heart.”

 

“But you can apologise for making her uncomfortable.” Regina knows she’s stepping on too many toes—it isn’t like Zelena has invaded Emma’s privacy, not with the sex questions she’s surprised did not make an appearance.

 

Plating the turnovers, Zelena carries them out without a word into the dining room, and Regina strains to listen from the kitchen. For a few awkward moments, there’s silence, and then the scraping back of a chair before Emma says, “I should go—”

 

“I apologise,” Zelena cuts in with, and Regina exhales a heavy breath. “My sister seems to believe you’re nothing more than a nice person doing a nice thing, but you must know that I will do anything to make sure she never experiences such heartbreak again. She’s… delicate, someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, and sooner or later she’s going to project those feelings onto you. I don’t want you to take advantage of her.” Silently, Regina seethes at Zelena’s view of her, but she’s eager to know Emma’s response.

 

“I won’t hurt her,” Emma whispers, tame and timid in a way that makes Regina’s throat itch. “She’s my friend, nothing more than that. I just… sometimes you meet someone, and they leave an impression on you, and you don’t know why but you’d do anything to help them—that’s Regina to me. And maybe I’m going with her to this wedding because I want to be friends with her for a long time. I’m not—I’m not looking for anything else.”

 

It shouldn’t ache when Emma only sees her as a friend, but it does. Although the pain ebbs away, and Regina is left with a feeling of lightness that she hasn’t felt in a long time. If Emma isn’t looking for something else, then maybe she can get through this week without another heartbreak to nurse— all she has to do is swallow her feelings down into a pit and keep reminding herself that Emma isn’t interested in her romantically.

 

Zelena’s laugh carries from the dining room, making Regina jerk into action as she cuts into the chocolate cake. “Then we understand each other,” she says, her charm back at full force and her tone bordering on slightly flirtatious. “Now tell me, have you been tested for STDs?”

 

“—Cake!” Regina shrills, intercepting her sister’s embarrassing line of questioning as she sets the chocolate cake down in the middle of the table. Sending Zelena a glare, Regina turns back to Emma and lays a possessive hand on her shoulder. “Would you like some, Emma?”

 

Zelena, back to her playful self, starts with a teasing, “I’m sure she’d—ouch!” before Regina kicks her under the table, “love some,” she finishes anyways.

 

Rolling her eyes, Regina takes a small piece for herself, and watches as Emma only nibbles at the cake set in front of her. She isn’t sure if the damage Zelena did is reversable, but so far she hasn’t seen Emma so uncomfortable before. If she’s like this in the presence of her sister, how will she react in the presence of Mal?

 

“You know,” Zelena drawls, picking at the pastry on her apple turnover, “my receptionist, Ashley, is on maternity leave for the next four months.” Zelena is as subtle as a bull in a china shop, but Regina appreciates her efforts nonetheless. Emma however stiffens, pride hurt and the wound gaping. “I like your attitude, you’d fit in well—that is, if you wanted the opportunity?”

 

Emma chuckles humourlessly, shaking her head from side to side as if to clear the cobwebs. “I’m fine where I am,” she says, although there’s a hint of steel in her voice, “but if you want me to suggest someone reliable, I’m sure I could dig up a few names.”

 

Zelena sits back with a smirk on her face, shrugging her shoulders as she takes a bite of her turnover. She’s seen something that Regina has been too tired to notice, and a part of her wants Emma to graciously leave so she can find out what it is—only some part of her is scared that if Emma leaves, she won’t be coming back, not when she can barely handle Zelena without getting angry, not when Mal will wipe the floor with her when the time comes.

 

…

 

Emma leaves first, stomach full and a forced smile on her lips as she awkwardly ambles by the door. Regina hands her three Tupperware containers and walks her to the waiting taxi. “I expect those to be returned,” she says in jest, although she kind of means it—Tupperware is precious.

 

Laughing, looking more at ease than she has the entire evening, Emma nods. “I promise I’ll return them,” she says delicately, like she’s afraid of Regina’s deductions about this evening.

 

“I’m sorry about Zelena,” Regina says softly, “she is just protective of me, and…” exhaling, she reaches out to squeeze Emma’s arm. “I hope you’re not offended by her. Although I do think she likes you.”

 

Blinking too rapidly, Emma looks down at her shoes and shrugs Regina’s hand off gently. “I get it,” she says, although Regina’s heart plummets into her chest at Emma’s tone. “I’ll see you later.” Not waiting for Regina’s response, Emma gets into the back of the taxi and leaves.

 

Regina stands there for too long, panic stricken and at a loss for what to do. She should have never let Zelena interfere before the wedding, not even if her big sister’s opinion matters to her, not even if this might give her the answer to whether this entire pretend is a good idea or not. Stomping back into the house, bottom lip wobbling, Regina smacks Zelena on the arm and brushes past her.

 

Her eyes itch and prickle with tears, her skin feels fragile under her touch, and everything has gone to _shit_.

 

“She likes you,” is what Zelena says, following Regina into the bedroom. “She’s scared and confused, but she likes you.”

 

Regina turns, a hiss in her voice, “you were flirting with her, and she was blushing. Emma is _mine_!”

 

Grabbing her by the shoulders, Zelena holds Regina close and sighs. “She was blushing because she was shy, because she was pleased at the attention, but her eyes kept straying toward you, you idiot. And you’re so gone on her you don’t even realise…” Zelena rolls her eyes skyward, swallowing thickly and blinking away the glassiness in her eyes. She tries again, voice soft, “you don’t need to fix anyone, or slot yourself into a puzzle for two, alright? _Let go_. You don’t need anyone, no matter how much of a sorry grump you are. If you fall in love this time, make sure you do it for the right reasons.”

 

Everything feels ruined, but Regina falls into her sister’s embrace and allows the tears to fall. There are choking, hiccupping sobs that soak through Zelena’s shirt, but Zelena keeps stroking Regina’s hair and holding her upright so that she doesn’t collapse in a heap of limbs. Perhaps the lack of sleep has finally reached its threshold, but Regina could lose everything she’s managed to gain in the past weeks, and yet she feels light instead of hollow. She doesn’t need to love Emma to be happy, and maybe friendship is an appropriate enough relationship for her to handle right now.

 

Regina is going to call Emma tomorrow and cancel their plans. Revenge isn’t all it’s cut out to be, right?

 

:::

 

Zelena only leaves on Tuesday night, Regina feeling empty and dull after crying her eyes out about everything for the entire day. Her doubts, her fears, her history with Mal all comes out, and whilst she had felt numb when telling Emma, indifferent almost, she feels every single emotion when telling Zelena. Perhaps it is the value of Zelena’s opinion that makes her crash, or the fact that she is the closest person in Regina’s life right now—other than her mother who will probably come to learn about everything sooner or later.

 

Closing the door behind Zelena’s back that night however, has her feeling drained. Regina knows she has every intention of calling Emma and cancelling their plans, but Emma hasn’t reached out to her since their dinner—and whether Emma has her contact information or not is something that Regina doesn’t bother with, not when all she can do for that night is collapse on the couch in sheer exhaustion and shelve her plans for the next day.

 

:::

 

Regina trembles when she holds the phone in her hand. There’s the familiar number on her contacts list that she refuses to click, not when she has had almost four hours of sleep, and it hadn’t been an appropriate time to call until now—or a few hours ago, but Regina had been too busy stalling to think of anything else.

 

She doesn’t know how to break up with someone, but she knows not to do it over the phone, even if it does seem significantly easier to rip the band aid off and not get chewed out for the consequences. Taking a deep breath, pacing a little in her kitchen as she reheats the leftover chicken from Monday, Regina clicks the call button and waits.

 

“Hello?” A groggy voice answers, and Regina flinches when the sound of the microwave goes off behind her.

 

“Hello,” she responds, “may I speak to Emma please?” She’s quite adept at bypassing the roommates by now, but this one lingers on the line just a little longer, irritating Regina as she drops the chicken into a small bowl.

 

Clearing his throat, the roommate shifts the phone from one ear to the next, making Regina wait before he speaks, “she’s not well,” he says, “but I can leave her a message?”

 

_Not well_? Stiffening, Regina runs through Monday night in her head, trying to figure out if Emma looked sick when she came over for dinner. Unable to pinpoint anything that might indicate so, Regina focuses her attention back on the phone, and tries not to panic at the thought that Emma might be using this tactic to avoid her. “No, no,” she says, trying to think of something quick, “but I did lend her a few of my Tupperware containers and she did say I could fetch them today, only she neglected to give me her address. Is there any chance that you might?”

 

“Oh!” the boy says, “Regina, right?” and Regina’s body goes cold. Emma has been talking about her? She isn’t sure whether to feel delighted or humiliated. He doesn’t wait for her reply however, and rattles off the address she has to ask him to repeat so she can jot it down. Pulling a pot out from the cupboard, Regina tosses in the chicken pieces and gets to work on a soup. If she’s going to ambush Emma, she might as well arrive with good reason.

 

…

 

Emma’s apartment is worlds apart from Regina’s quaint suburban home. Resting in the heart of the city, Regina has had to battle traffic through the glare of the late morning sun. Her agitation is now at an all-time high when she finally stands in front of the ugly green door after having climbed too many flights of stairs.

 

One would think that after coming all this way, Regina would be eager to move past the welcome mat she stands on; only Regina hesitates to knock, knowing full well that other than intruding on Emma’s territory, she might have to meet the roommates who could be as harsh as Zelena had been the other night—and Regina isn’t sure she can handle any more rejection if it comes down to it. Breathing in deeply, Regina finally drums up the courage, and raises her hand to knock, the sound echoing down the narrow hallway where she nervously waits for too long.

 

The door opens eventually, revealing someone vaguely familiar who blushes from the tips of his ears down to his neck. “Miss Mills,” he squeaks, running his hands through his hair fretfully and tugging down on his plaid shirt. “Come in, please.”

 

Taking a tentative step inside, Regina casts her gaze around the apartment that’s larger than she expected it to be. Stepping into the open space, Regina smiles nervously at the boy and tries not to wince at the amount of wooden trinkets lining the ample shelves along the face-brick walls. She supposes it’s charming in a rustic sort of way— what with the lounge consisting of mismatched beanbags and a cracked leather couch, and the open plan kitchen on the other side that hosts beaten down appliances and a breakfast bar that provides an illusion of separation between the two rooms. “Emma Swan?” she asks.

 

“Emma is in her room, but I can take that if you’d like, Miss Mills?”

 

“It’s Regina,” she says unthinkingly, handing the container of soup over. She’s only grateful that she made more than enough to feed three men and Emma, thinking of the roommates at the very last minute to impress them for some reason. “You said she’s unwell? Do you mind if I…” leaving the sentence to hang in the air, Regina waits for the boy to get the hint. She can’t see the other two anywhere, and she isn’t in the mood to meet them all today, not when this roommate can’t stop blushing.

 

Blinking to hide the way he’s been staring at her, the roommate gestures down the hall and says, “sure,” in a tone that sounds suspicious. “I’m here if you need anything else.” He doesn’t offer her anything to eat or drink, and Regina doesn’t bother to ask for it when she’s already halfway down the hallway peeking her head into every room. After two doors, one being a bathroom and the other a very messy bedroom, Regina finds Emma sitting up on her bed reading a book.

 

She should have asked the roommate to announce her presence, not wanting to intrude upon Emma like this, but something in her heart pounds, and Regina foolishly knocks on her open door. “Hello,” she says lamely, swallowing thickly to rid herself of the second-hand embarrassment Emma must feel.

 

Jumping at the sound, Emma hurriedly covers herself up with her duvet and tries to run her fingers through her messy bun to tidy it. None of it works, and Regina steps into the room to try and smooth the situation over. “I called,” she explains, “but one of your roommates said you were sick, and I got worried. I’m sorry if I arrived unannounced—I can leave if you want?”

 

Sighing, Emma pushes the duvet down and sets her book to the side, gesturing for Regina to stay. “I didn’t expect to be caught out in my pyjamas today, but here we are.” Regina can’t help but smile along with Emma, a teasing glint in the blonde’s eye as she pats the space next to her on the bed.

 

“To be fair, I’ve yet to see you in your pyjamas, this is a privilege.” Sitting down daintily at Emma’s silent request, Regina allows her smile to fall away as she assesses Emma for signs of sickness. The back of her hand rests against Emma’s forehead to feel for a temperature, but Emma gently removes her hand with a pained smile.

 

She says, “I’m not sick,” her grip on Regina’s wrist still light and gentle. “I’m just… not feeling myself today is all.”

 

Swallowing thickly, Regina removes her hand from Emma’s hold and turns toward the wall in front of her, fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap. “This is because of the way Zelena treated you, isn’t it?” she asks, nervous about the answer; because as much as she wants to call everything off for the sake of Emma and herself, she also doesn’t want to lose her as a friend, not over her sister’s brash comments and blunt blows.

 

“No,” Emma reassures, although Regina can sense the lie in her words. “I was a little insulted, but she came from a good place. It’s a blessing that you have someone like her to take care of you, to make sure that you’re on a safe path.” The fact that Emma is consoling Regina over her own hurt has everything ache just a little more. How much more of this torture must she put Emma through?

 

Turning to face Emma again, Regina opens her mouth to call everything off, because this is all one sided, and Regina has taken up so much of Emma already, but instead she asks, “why are you feeling off today?”

 

The surprise is evident on Emma’s face, and Regina is almost humiliated at the fact that she’s been the only one benefiting from this relationship so far. “You sure you want to know?” Emma asks, and Regina’s heart breaks just a little more.

 

Shifting so that she’s got one of her legs bent at the knee, waist turned toward Emma fully, Regina takes both of her hands into her hold and exhales. “Tell me,” she says softly, watching as Emma’s eyes become glassy.

 

Licking her lips, Regina shamefully watching the action, Emma shifts forward to speak to her in a whisper. “Today is my mother’s death day,” she says, voice catching, lips thinning as she attempts to smile. Regina feels the horror creeping up her spine over thinking that every one of Emma’s moods must correlate to only her directly. This suffocation was what Mal had warned her about, and she feels pathetically self-involved.

 

She should say the usual _I’m sorry_ , but none of that ever works, instead, Regina squeezes Emma’s hands just a little tighter in hers and asks, “will you tell me about her?” in her gentlest of voices.

 

The awe on Emma’s face feels undeserved, but Regina relishes in it anyways, absorbing the change of Emma’s features from sombre into something resembling happy. “She loved birds,” is what Emma says first, and Regina finds herself smiling along with Emma’s contagious happiness. “We used to buy the birds that could survive without human care from the pet store and set them free. Mom used to say that if something has wings and can fend for itself, then it should be allowed to fly. She was… she believed in things that I never did—hope, love, fate. When she died I vowed that I would try to see things her way, that I would be a good person.”

 

“Emma…” Regina breathes, reaching up to brush away the few fallen tears on pale skin. “You are a good person.” It sounds shallow to her ears, laced with too much meaning but no depth, but Emma takes it regardless, offering her a small smile.

 

“I’m not a good person,” she confesses, “not like her. I try _too_ hard to be good, I do it for the wrong reasons— that’s being two faced.” Regina makes to console Emma again, but Emma continues speaking, eyes distant as she stares right through Regina. “My father was two-faced. My mother loved him more than her own life, more than anything, and he took whatever she could give to feed his love for cocaine. He’s alive, you know? I don’t know where he is, and I don’t think he cares for me unless I somehow come into a lot of money, but I don’t want to be like him— I don’t want to take advantage of you, Regina.”

 

Alarmed, Regina scrambles to try and follow Emma’s train of thought. Zelena might’ve hit too many nails on its head the other day, and Regina tries desperately hard to pry the lid of the coffin off just for a breath of air. “You’re not taking advantage of me,” she hurriedly whispers, squeezing Emma’s hands too tightly as she cries. “I’m the one taking advantage of you. I’m the one who needs someone to come with me to this wedding, and I’m the one who wants to teach my ex-wife a lesson. You’ve done nothing but help me, Emma.”

 

“That’s a lie,” Emma sniffles, sick with grief for something Regina cannot name, “I only helped you because you said—you said I was the first person to approach you, and you believe in fate. Mom used to believe in fate, I wanted—I wanted to be more like her, but I’m _not_!”

 

Exhaling a shaky breath, a lump in her throat threatening to have her cry in a situation where she needs to be stable, Regina finds herself falling down a sticky pit of something familiar. Staring at Emma for longer than appropriate, Regina takes in her messy hair and tear streaked face, the whites of her knuckles that have lost blood flow from holding on too tightly to the little contact Regina has given her, and all she can think about is how _ordinary_ Emma is. She isn’t some prostitute on the street corner, nor is she some psychic that knows all Regina’s secrets—she’s an ordinary girl, with ordinary problems, and somehow that makes her absolutely _stunning_ in Regina’s eyes.

 

Emma is _real_. She isn’t a second choice, or arm candy, or some convenient thing to love—she’s real, and she feels things just as deeply as Regina does. The thought has Regina’s stomach clench, a churning of emotions making her feel just as sick as Emma. “Maybe you’re not like her,” she husks around the lump in her throat, untangling her fingers from Emma’s, “but you are _good_ , and you are—you are…” Regina breathes in and out harshly, her palms cupping Emma’s cheeks and fingers sliding through silky strands of golden hair. It would be so _easy_ to take advantage of Emma’s fragile state, to kiss her with the desperation of a yearning lover and pour all the words she wants to say into the intimate action. Their foreheads touch, Regina’s nose bumping against Emma’s own as she feels more than sees Emma’s fingers sliding up to wrap around her wrists, holding her there for just a second longer. She wants to say so many things, to allow herself to fall into this abyss and never get back up, but Regina hesitates. “If you feel like you need to back out from our plans, then I won’t hold you to them,” Regina breathes instead, “I want you to feel comfortable and happy, and if this isn’t what you want, I’ll understand.”

 

Wide eyes stare back at her, equal parts hurt and embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” Emma rasps, “I didn’t mean to explode like this—unless you don’t need me anymore then, of course… of course.”

 

Regina can’t help but laugh, Emma’s face still in her hands, and so many things weighing down on her shoulders. For once, she feels like an equal contributor to this relationship, purposeful again even if it’s just in the role of friend. “I need you,” she confesses in a quiet whisper, eyes closing as she speaks over the warning bells sounding in her head. The denial she wraps around herself cloaks her like an unfamiliar blanket, but Regina burrows into it when she pulls back from Emma, a pained smile on her face. A few weeks ago, and she had _loathed_ Emma, wanting nothing more than to strangle her for being so bitchy—three attempts at a nap later, and Regina grits her teeth at how quickly she’s come to care for her instead.

 

It isn’t like her to pick anyone off the road and love them, not when Regina— despite being a hopeless romantic— is still picky as hell. People had come and gone, but only two within her lifetime had made her heart crack wide open and bleed for them. Emma will not be the third, no matter how her heart aches when she closes the distance between them, pressing a kiss to Emma’s forehead for longer than appropriate. Pulling back slightly, Regina looks at Emma seriously, her gaze searching as they lean too close. “if you need anything,” she starts, “anything at all, no matter how ridiculous, or if it’s five minutes or five years from now, you tell me, okay?” The fierceness in her statement surprises even herself, but Regina hangs on Emma’s every breath to hear her answer.

 

“Anything?” Emma asks, looking too young and too fearful.

 

Regina nods, holding Emma just a little tighter. “ _Anything_ ,” she confirms, before pulling back entirely, her hands settling in her lap. Clearing her throat to rid herself of the emotion that sits there, Regina nods her head toward the bedroom door. “Come on,” she says, “let me feed you chicken soup so you can return my Tupperware, and then we can do something to cheer you up.” She makes to discard the situation, to brush it off like the lint on her dress and pretend that everything is still the way it was a few days ago. It seems all they do around each other is pretend, and the irony is, unfortunately, not lost on Regina.

 

Grabbing her hand when she stands, Emma looks up at her with an expression she can’t name. “Thank you,” she says softly, “for being my friend.”

 

Squeezing Emma’s fingers, Regina lets go and allows Emma to compose herself, too weighed down with information to respond. If her gaze lingers too long on Emma’s face, if the look of longing is reflected in both their eyes, then Regina only clears it away like the lump in her throat and tries to disarm it with a smile. _Not_ _yet_ , she thinks, hurrying out of the bedroom, not yet.

 

…

 

Reasonably, after such an emotional confrontation, there is bound to be some embarrassment, and when Emma slinks into the kitchen with freshly washed hair and what looks to be an ironed pair of cargo pants, Regina knows there’s a wall that’s being built again.

 

“Your friend said I could help myself,” she says to cut through the silence, stirring the chicken soup in a borrowed pot to heat it up again.

 

Emma peers into the pot and inhales, her eyes closing at the unfamiliar aroma. “That’s August,” she says, nodding toward the curly haired roommate that had invited her inside, “he’s the one with the crush on you.”

 

Raising her eyebrows, Regina looks at Emma with an amused shake of her head. “That explains the constant blushing then.” Shrugging, Emma moves to sit at the breakfast bar, fingers curled under her chin as she watches Regina plate two bowls of soup. “Have you come up with three outfits yet?” Regina asks, pulling open a few drawers until she finds the spoons.

 

Sighing, Emma drags the bowl of soup closer to herself and massages her temples. “I haven’t,” she admits sheepishly, her gaze dropping down to the spoon that she fiddles with. Regina can tell that their conversation from earlier still bothers Emma, and her attempts to pretend that everything is back to normal without this weight hanging over them doesn’t seem to be having the soothing effect she thought it would.

 

Reaching out to place her hand atop Emma’s, Regina lowers her voice into a whisper so that August who is busy on his laptop in the lounge doesn’t overhear. “I’m glad you told me everything,” she says, “I understand you better now, I… appreciate you more.”

 

“You mean you know how damaged I actually am?” Emma smartly responds, holding Regina’s gaze.

 

Tilting her head with an affectionate smile on her face, Regina cups Emma’s cheek tenderly and says, “oh Emma, you have no idea how _beautiful_ you are.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have said it, those aching words that have sat at the back of her throat since she first met Emma, but they’re out in the open now, and Emma looks too close to tears again at the heartfelt compliment. Clearing her throat and pulling her hand back, Regina thoroughly embarrassed at showing her hand like this, she gestures toward August instead. “Call him and you both can—”

 

They enter with booming voices, laughter spilling from the both of them as they topple into the apartment only to pause at the sight of Regina. Regina herself stills, caught in a staring match with whom she assumes are the rest of the roommates. “Hello,” she croaks, wholly unprepared for this meeting.

 

“Hey,” one of them says uncertainly, gaze darting down to Emma who stands from her seat.

 

“Neal,” she says breathlessly, cheeks tinging pink and her hand reaching out for Regina’s once again, “Graham, hey.” The boy Regina assumes is Graham, the one with supermodel looks and curly brown hair that falls into his eyes, nods at Emma and then Regina in greeting. Neal however, the smaller one with a limping gait and charming smile, doesn’t look so much at ease. “Regina,” Emma says, “these are my roommates Neal and Graham.”

 

Regina nods at them each, pulling her spine up to seem taller in the face of the men who Emma spends most of her time with. August is a non-issue, not when he ambles over toward the kitchen with eyes only for his professor and his ears permanently red. Neal however, still stands with a frown on his face awaiting the next part of the introduction that has Emma look nervously at Regina with just a hint of a plea. “Neal, Graham— August,” she starts, Regina’s fingers probably turning blue with the strength of the grip Emma has on them, “This is Regina, my girlfriend.”

 

All the blood from Regina’s face drains down to her toes.

 

“So this is Regina?” Neal asks, sounding almost as surprised as Regina feels when he finally allows his gaze to scrutinize her. He looks over her once, twice, and then settles on the way her fingers are essentially trapped between Emma’s own. “I thought for a moment she wasn’t real—you are Regina, right?” He tries to joke it off, to lessen the value of their relationship—whatever the label on that might be, and Regina will not have it.

 

“I assure you,” Regina purrs, drawing strength from Emma’s hold to carry out what obviously seems like some kind of pretence, “I am very much real.” Neal goes red in the face at her tone, and August sways on the spot before quickly sitting down at the breakfast bar to pull the neglected bowl of soup toward him. Only Graham seems mildly bothered by the energy in the room, choosing instead to bump Neal in the shoulder and nod toward the pot.

 

He asks, “something cooking?” and that’s the only time that Emma releases her fingers, the digits turning pink with the blood rushing back to them.

 

“Regina made me chicken soup, but she was kind enough to make some for you idiots too.” A chorus of mismatched insults and snarky retorts has Regina retreat to the other side of the small kitchen, fishing out a few more bowls and spoons before dishing out healthy servings for the boys. When she places a bowl in front of each of them, only Neal doesn’t eat right away, and Emma takes tentative mouthfuls that Regina is sure she doesn’t taste.

 

“Whatever you want to know,” Regina drawls, resting her elbows on the opposite side of the breakfast counter, Neal’s eyes dropping down to the cleavage displayed in her wrap dress before he hurriedly snaps it back up, “I’m an open book.”

 

He considers this, ready to ask questions that Regina suspects might be along the lines of _what are your intensions with my roommate_? but instead, Neal surprises her by raising a smug eyebrow in her direction and ignoring her soup altogether. He asks, “how long have you known Emma?” and Regina blanches when she realises this might be a trick question. There’s a kick to her shin when she takes too long to answer, but Emma had once told her that sticking as close to the truth as possible within a lie is the only way not to get caught.

 

“I know her for over two months now?” the statement comes out as a question when she turns to Emma for clarity, Emma nodding in the positive. “Although we only started dating recently.” The last part is a jab at the sudden situation she finds herself in, and Emma manages to throw her an apologetic look before delving back into the soup that she seems to be enjoying.

 

Nodding to himself, Neal finally takes a spoonful of the soup and hums appreciatively, but doesn’t offer any compliments to Regina, not when she’s busy refilling August and Graham’s bowls. “You know, I almost thought you didn’t exist. I asked Emma out one day, and suddenly she has a girlfriend I never heard about—but I’m glad I met you, you seem like a _nice_ person.” Neal’s tone is hard, iron and steel wrapped up in the same possessiveness that Regina is all too familiar with. His voice is a hiss, too quiet for the others to pick up on, but enough for Regina to know she has someone watching her.

 

“Well it’s too bad then,” she says evenly, voice equally as sharp, “that Emma obviously has better taste than you give her credit for.”

 

The flirting, the unnecessary touches, heartfelt confessions, and now claiming her territory in a house that she’s only just been acquainted with? Regina feels like a gladiator in a warzone, fighting for too much with the stakes too high.

 

“We’ll see,” Neal says, an ominous lilt to his voice, “how long you two last before Emma runs.” And for the second time that afternoon, the blood from Regina’s face drains.

 

…

 

Regina has been in Emma’s apartment for just over an hour, and already it’s been nothing but a tiring affair. Emma washes the Tupperware containers in the kitchen, her back to Regina who is monopolised by August who insists on picking her brain about his master’s thesis that she’s too crabby to answer. She’s supposed to be Emma’s girlfriend here, a woman with romance in her eyes and a familiarity that goes beyond scorching touches and exhausted tantrums—it’s an act that she had only thought valid at Marian’s wedding, her hands shaking as she tries to tamp down on the pain from tasting something she won’t allow herself to have.

 

And what a taste this is—something sweet and forbidden, Regina’s cursed heart beating wildly in her chest as she slots into the role of better half once again. She’s breathed in fresh air and can’t imagine inhaling such toxic fumes again. The fun of it however, only lasts so long, Graham excusing himself to go back to work, and Neal watching Regina too closely for comfort. The charade makes her irritated with herself, having lost all sense of propriety with the heady high of being a girlfriend again, of having Emma look upon her with a careful gaze every time Neal scrutinizes her for too long.

 

Running her hand through her hair, tugging on the ends harshly, Regina cuts August off with a sharp, “I actually have a previous appointment to attend,” looking down at her watch that shows the time to be just after half past twelve. “I should leave,” she insists, her mood souring when the reality of this catches up with her tired bones.

 

August looks disappointed that Regina has to leave, but reluctantly stands to walk her to the door with Neal’s eyes following them. “I’ll let Emma know,” he says quietly, and bounds down the hallway to fetch her fake girlfriend from wherever she’s disappeared to. Regina, in a moment of cheekiness, turns toward Neal and holds his gaze. She isn’t afraid of him, not when she had been married to Mal who is twice the person that this boy will ever be—at least Mal knew the meaning of the word _No_ , even if she had soiled their wedding bed with something ugly.

 

“August said you’re leaving?” Emma says, coming up behind her to put a light hand on her shoulder. Regina turns toward Emma, forgetting Neal for the moment as she nods.

 

She says, “there are things I have to do before we leave tomorrow—but we’re still not as prepared as I would have liked us to be.” They both don’t have their three outfits, nor has Regina packed for the trip they are to take, and the itch of irritation from earlier returns at full force. This is a cover for something deeper that Regina is all too willing to use, her lips pursing into a thin line as the anger at herself for getting carried away with this fake relationship begins to focus on something tangible.

 

Sensing her distress, Emma runs her hand up and down Regina’s arm, her actions stiff and slightly concerned. Regina doesn’t know whether this forced physicality between them is because of Emma’s confession earlier, or Neal’s pressing gaze from across the room. “Tell me what I can do to help,” Emma says, playing the concerned girlfriend, or the doting friend— Regina doesn’t care to find out.

 

“It would help me if you had your three outfits planned out like I asked you!” Because that would have been one less thing to worry about— but that obviously isn’t why she snaps at Emma, not when there is a very real possibility of twisting their friendship into something unnameable, and Emma had taken advantage of that blurred line by presenting Regina to her roommates as her _girlfriend_ no less. She knows she’s being a hypocrite, what with this exact same dance expected of Emma at Marian’s wedding, but Regina hadn’t been prepared, and now she’s caught in the middle of a pissing contest with Neal just to prove her worth to a woman who doesn’t even _want_ her in that way.

 

Backing away with her hands raised in surrender, Emma physically tenses at Regina’s mood. Neal stands up from his seat on the couch, making his way over to them without invitation, and Regina closes the gap between Emma and herself to subtly cast him out. “It isn’t fair,” she whispers harshly, her voice bordering on a hiss, “you are not being fair.”

 

Emma’s throat constricts as she swallows, her gaze holding Regina’s without any intention of backing down. “You said I could ask you for anything,” she shoots back, finding the root of this problem too quickly for Regina’s liking. “I’m asking now,” she says, “I’m asking for this.” When Regina doesn’t budge despite Neal coming closer, Emma resorts to pleading. “ _Please_ ,” she whispers desperately, fingers brushing against Regina’s own, “I won’t ask for anything else.”

 

Closing her eyes in defeat, Regina breathes in a steadying breath, her palm coming up to rest lightly on Emma’s cheek. “You haven’t asked me for anything,” Regina says softly, the both of them wounded from the same thing, “but when you have the courage to ask, I won’t hesitate to give it to you.”

 

Maybe, for a fraction of a second, Regina thinks she sees Emma gather the strength to ask for what she wants, but the clearing of a throat from beside them has Emma jerk back from their intimate bubble to glare at Neal instead. “I’ll get those outfits,” Emma croaks, pulling Regina’s hand away from her face.

 

Exhaling in irritation, Regina rolls her eyes and straightens her posture, using the interrupted time between Emma and herself to hike her handbag further up her shoulder, and reach out to take the returned Tupperware containers from Emma’s arms. “Just get one outfit,” she orders, “something casual but dressy for the night after celebrations. What is your shoe size?” she tries to ask casually, but Emma frowns in thought regardless.

 

“A seven,” she answers with, crossing her hands over her chest.

 

“Right,” Regina says decisively, “be packed and ready to leave at three at the latest.” When she makes to move toward the door, a strong grip on her arm prevents her from leaving.

 

Emma asks, “three? I thought we were leaving in the evening?” Neal raises his eyebrows at this, looking smug and annoying as he saddles up to Emma without proper cause.

 

“Emma still has work, Regina,” he says smartly, earning himself a glare.

 

Truthfully, Regina hadn’t thought about Emma’s working hours, or the fact that she might have put in for leave to accommodate Regina’s inane request of attending this wedding with her. She feels overbearing for a minute, but then reminds herself that she isn’t the only one benefiting from this relationship anymore, not with Neal’s beady eyes and smug smirk concentrated on her in a way that makes her uncomfortable. “It’s fine,” she finds herself saying, unable to think of a solution when all she wants to do is rip Neal’s face off. “Shall we say seven, then? I’m sure I can shift things around to accommodate our schedule.”

 

“Regina you don’t have to—”

 

“I insist,” Regina says firmly, holding the Tupperware up to her chest. “I’ll see you later, Emma.” Her gaze slides toward Neal, upper lip curling into a snarl, “Neal,” she says in dismissal, all too happy to step out of the threshold when he opens the door for her.

 

“Your girlfriend is _stiff_ ,” she manages to hear before the door closes, Emma stuttering in protest at the abrupt goodbye she hadn’t been able to properly partake in. Regina is still angry however and manages to drop the Tupperware on her way down the stairs more than once. When she finally makes it to her car, she has no qualms with flinging the containers into the backseat, her forehead resting on the steering wheel once she manages to get into the driver’s seat after fighting uselessly with the door.

 

Holding back a wave of tears that she tries to press back with her palms, Regina releases a strangled sound and hopes to God that the brewing feelings she has for Emma goes away. She can’t handle her heart swelling at the way Emma had said _my_ _girlfriend_ , her chest puffed out and pride in the way her chin tilted upwards at the reveal of their fake relationship to the roommates. Regina will not sob over the possibility of _something_ when she’s supposed to be getting over a divorce long since dead and buried, Mal a distant memory as Emma fills in all the blanks she yearns for in a partner.

 

Slapping her hands down on the steering wheel, Regina reaches for her phone and dials Emma’s number. It rings twice before someone answers, Neal’s grating, “Hello—” cut off as Regina ends the call. Trying again a few minutes later, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of her nose, Regina waits until the line is picked up again.

 

“Hello?” Emma breathes into the receiver, and Regina swallows thickly as she bangs the back of her head against the seat.

 

She croaks out an, “Emma,” and doesn’t know what to say next, not when this entire thing is ridiculous. Regina is still parked downstairs for crying out loud, Emma only a few flights of stairs away, yet she clutches onto her phone as if it’s Emma’s hand.

 

“Tell me,” Emma whispers, and Regina pictures her leaning against the face-brick wall with her eyes closed, phone cord wrapped around her fingers. It was easier when Emma was still a mystery, when her lack of sleep was the only thing that clouded her judgement, and their intimate bubble hadn’t been burst with the introduction of Zelena and the roommates. This is becoming too real, no longer a fantasy that promises a happy ending.

 

Regina whispers out a broken, “I’m sorry,” squeezing her eyes shut as she tries to will the image of almost kissing Emma away. She isn’t sure if she’s sorry for that, or for the abrupt way in which she had left, but Regina apologises all the same, hoping Emma will understand.

 

“I should be the one apologising,” Emma says dully, her voice distant and pained. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow, but if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you—”

 

“Ask me,” Regina interrupts with, desperate and aching when the cloak of denial slips from her shoulders. “You can make it up to me by asking me for what you really want—tomorrow,” she clarifies, “ask me tomorrow for that one thing, and I promise I will forgive you.” Emma could ask her to go skydiving for all she cares, but Regina only wants to see Emma happy, to watch as her lips stretch into a grin so wide that her faint dimple becomes visible.

 

Emma says, “ _Regina_ ,” her name sounding cracked and broken, a prayer that spills over the lines they had drawn in the sand. Regina knows she’s playing with fire, but she waits until Emma speaks again, the soft, “I will,” more than worth the wait.

 

The line goes dead after that, Regina clutching her phone to her chest as she concentrates on her breathing to avoid the panic attack that rests on the edges of her sanity. “Fuck,” she exhales into the car, a giggle tickling the back of her throat that grows into rumbustious laughter. “ _Fuck_ ,” she chortles, grabbing at her necklace as her laughter turns into a sob, tears marring her vision as she gives into every agonisingly wonderful feeling she has toward Emma Swan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whilst you are here please go on ahead and take a look at [ DelicatePoem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelicatePoem/pseuds/DelicatePoem) and [Emma_Swan's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma_Swan/pseuds/Emma_Swan) amazing works!


	5. Travel pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to split this chapter into two, because it is extremely long. It will still deal with the "travel" prompt, and have a much lighter tone to it than the first part- I hope. This story will now host 9 chapters instead of the planned 8.
> 
> On that note, thank you all for still reading and leaving your feedback, I appreciate it greatly! If there is any mistakes or incorrect information, do not hesitate to point it out.

Eyes vacant and unseeing, Regina bumps into the doorframe of her house with a wince, keys clattering down onto the floor when her fingers lose their grip on them. She steps over the cut metal, handbag slipping from her shoulder to join the keys on the tile. Regina feels light, _too_ light, her mind floating and body made of lead as she walks further into the suffocating house.

 

She’s had a year to fix this place, to box up Mal’s forgotten things and redecorate—or sell the godforsaken piece of land with too many memories that she clutches onto; but Regina has been stagnant since Mal destroyed her universe, and instead sits happily within the broken pieces of a life she could have put back together. No one had given her a timeline to stick by, and Regina herself hadn’t jotted down one like she’s so used to, not when she’s still lamenting a loss that will have her staring down the barrel of forty with none of her plans coming to fruition.

 

Her throat feels sore after her embarrassing bout of tears in the car, cheeks dry and sticky where she had failed to properly wipe the evidence away. Regina has cried more than enough within these few days than she has her entire lifetime, and just when she thinks there’s no more to give, there comes a sob that rips through all her expectations of herself.

 

Rubbing her shoulder that still pounds with a dull ache, Regina stumbles into the house without any care for the windows and doors that remain wide open. The errant thought that someone might steal her valuables makes her pause, but what does she own that she hasn’t been robbed of already? Her dignity that’s scattered about wherever she’s walked throughout the year won’t be so easy to find, and her sanity that creeps along the edges of these walls are tricky to catch. Whatever else anyone can get their hands on would be the husk of what Regina could have been— nothing more than an eager romantic with a checklist to tick off.

 

Pushing into the study, a room neglected for the semester break, Regina pulls her sweater from her shoulders and throws it over the nearest armchair. Her fingers brush over the shelf of textbooks, her own standing proudly apart from the others, nestled obscenely next to the three Mal has written. There are three different pictures of Mal behind each book, and Regina sets them all face down on Mal’s vacated desk, the dark wood bare and empty. The first picture is from before Regina had known her, the vibrancy in her ex-wife’s eyes unmistakable. She looks as if the only trouble she might have had is whether to choose a black or red blouse to wear for a lecture that morning.

 

The second picture of Mal is six years later, a calm look about her that had made Regina fall in love with her in the first place. She looks so sure of herself, dressed in bold colours and standing atop the masses who could only clamour to get where she might be. The third picture however, the one where she’s wearing a ring on her finger, has Mal looking domesticated, a pastel shirt covered by long tendrils of blonde hair that Regina might’ve run her fingers through. The light in her eyes looks dimmed, like Regina had taken a glass and placed it over her flame, trying to keep it to herself but killing it in the process. Taking a seat behind the mahogany desk, Regina pulls the textbooks toward herself and stares. She memorises the way the arch of Mal’s eyebrows have drooped with age, how her smile becomes more strained, her shoulders slouching as if the weight of her wedding ring had been too much.

 

The last time Regina has seen her ex-wife had been at the divorce hearing, her blurred figure signing away their life whilst Regina had choked back tears that turned her eyes red. The same burning sensation prickles at her eyes now, Regina’s trembling fingers pressing against her temple as she asks herself how she couldn’t have seen it before. Shouted words that bounced across the walls of their now barren home hadn’t made sense before, but Regina is beginning to realise that Mal might’ve had a point, that things said in anger have the most truth to them.

 

She doesn’t know how long she sits there; a wind picking up outside, the day turning into night, and the windows and doors rattling as they struggle to hold on with the force of nature threatening to tear them off their hinges. Goosebumps rise over her skin, but Regina refuses to reach for her sweater that sits on the armchair a few feet away, her mind numb and body achingly so.

 

This time, when her eyes close and body leans forward, Regina falls asleep next to Mal, almost able to convince herself that not everything is lost yet.

 

:::

 

Waking with a sharp intake of breath through her nose, Regina jerks upright when the sound of a voice can be heard. She struggles to make out who it is, but even bleary eyed and half asleep, Regina knows enough to be scared.

 

Reaching for the nearest blunt object, Regina hefts up Mal’s heavy textbook and edges her way out of the study into the passage. The voice becomes clearer, and Regina approaches it with a purposeful _thwack_! the textbook falling apart as she loses her grip on the cover, the spine ripping in half.

 

A spluttered, “W-what the _bloody hell_!” comes out muffled, Regina grabbing at whatever is left of the textbook to swing another blow before a strong grip encases her wrist. “It’s me! Regina, It’s _me_!”

 

“Zelena?!” Regina gasps out, dropping the ruined textbook, the pages scattering around them both. “What are you doing here?” Taking a step back, Regina feels the crunch of something underneath her sandals, gaze darting down to her feet to try and see what unfortunate thing had been broken under her weight. When she sees only the sparkle of crushed dust pressed into the grout of the tile, Regina worriedly looks around the lounge to find broken bits of wood and glass. One of the curtain railings have fallen to hang at an awkward angle, and the trinkets she never cared for now litter the floor.

 

Zelena groans as she massages the top of her head, her eyes darting to her surroundings before they settle on Regina again. “I came to check up on you,” she says bitterly, and it’s then that Regina notices the time, glancing down at her wristwatch that shows just after seven in the morning. “I thought you were kidnapped!” she snaps, Regina blinking rapidly to try and keep up with the strain of emotion in Zelena’s voice. “I thought—Look at this place! It looks like it’s been robbed! What the hell happened?!”

 

Pressing her fingers to her temple, Regina reaches out to clamp a hand over Zelena’s mouth, her eyes closing as she tries to get her bearings. “I just woke up,” she rasps, retracting her hand to run her fingers through her own hair in a vain attempt to right her appearance. “Coffee?” she asks, waving off the question when she realises her mistake. “Tea?” she tries again.

 

“That would be delightful,” Zelena sarcastically drawls, still looking around the broken home with her hands clutched over her purse. One would think that whatever thief Zelena had thought to have robbed Regina’s home is still running rampant through the house with the way she holds herself. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

 

Retreating into the bathroom, her eyelids sticking together every time she blinks, Regina waits for Zelena to follow whilst she splashes her face with water. “I left the doors and windows open,” she mumbles, wiping her fingers across her eyes so she can look at Zelena through the bathroom mirror. “The wind must have blown the frames over, and that curtain rail wasn’t secured properly enough.” Patting her face with a towel, Regina reaches for her toothbrush to clean the furriness from her teeth.

 

Zelena eyes her sceptically, watching as Regina brushes her teeth with meticulous care. “Mother knows,” she says quietly. “That woman has a way of getting anything out of anyone, and she… she’s coming to see you.”

 

Spitting out the toothpaste, Regina turns to Zelena with the suds still around her lips, literally foaming at the mouth at the information presented to her. “You told _Mother_!”

 

“Did you expect anything less? Mother has to know, she’ll make this better.” Zelena’s defence comes from the same place that Regina’s does, and she wonders whether their mother’s upbringing has anything to do with how they seek approval and love from those who will not give it.

 

Turning back to the sink, Regina brushes her tongue furiously and rinses her mouth, making sure that all traces of the toothpaste are gone from where it had fallen onto her dress. “Mother will destroy Mal—I don’t want that! Can’t you for one second, just—” stomping her foot down onto the floor, Regina fights back tears as she thinks of the cleaning she has to do, both of the lounge and whatever tentative relationship might’ve been established between Mal and her again. Emma had asked her once what she wanted from this, and Regina wants Mal in her life in whatever capacity she handle, she wants a life where she can sleep through the night without aching for another woman who will never want her back.

 

“I don’t want to speak to Mother. I’m going to Marian’s wedding and I’m _never_ coming back!”

 

“Oh, you’re being dramatic!” Zelena shouts after her, following Regina into the kitchen where she switches on the kettle for that promised tea. “You want Mal, then you don’t want Mal, then you want Emma, but you don’t want Emma, and now—You are so _frustrating_ , Regina! Just because one thing doesn’t go your way, doesn’t mean you get to have a princess tantrum.”

 

“ _Princess tantrum_?!” Regina seethes, all riled up and raw, “my wife of six years cheated on me, you moron! I _suffocated_ her, I wanted more than she could give because I wanted _all_ of her—this is me being hurt, this is me feeling betrayed and not good enough for anyone— not Emma, not Mal, not anyone else!” The kettle boils in the background, the whistle going off as Regina pours hot water over everything with only bitter words at her disposal. “Do you think I want to love like this? Do you think I want to ache and yearn and crave things that take up valuable time? I don’t want to have picnics with hanging lanterns in the garden, I don’t want to watch stars and sit on porch swings, and I don’t want to have the urge to express my love every minute of every day because it is _tiring_. I am so tired of loving like this, of sprinkling rose petals on the bed and hoping for bliss. Nothing is a bed of roses! I’m sleeping on a bed of _thorns_!”

 

Reaching behind her, Regina takes the kettle off the stove and slams it on the counter, hissing when the water splashes onto her hand, but not paying it any heed besides wiping the droplets away on her dress.

 

Zelena’s lips purse, her head shaking from side to side as she watches her sister unravel. “Your problems are so small,” she says, her voice booming in the silence that surrounds them after Regina’s shouting. “You look like you slept the night,” she observes, “and you’re angry that you did? Are you afraid that if you let go of your pain, then Mal would have won?”

 

“This isn’t a competition,” Regina spits.

 

“But you’re acting like there is one,” Zelena counters, crossing her arms over her chest and stripping Regina bare with only a practiced gaze. “It’s been more than a year. You’re allowed to love someone else, you _can_ be okay—you can ask Mother for help.”

 

Scoffing, Regina turns toward the kettle to make them their tea, her chest heaving as she tries to calm herself down. She’s had a full night’s rest, gotten Emma’s motivations for helping her, and will most likely still attend Marian’s wedding with dignity. But the pain that has been a constant companion seems to escape her, and Regina grasps for something tangible she can hold onto instead. “Mal will think it’s okay now,” she confesses, moving through the hurt and anger to reach a destination of enlightenment, “that what she did was for the best. I was hurting, and I want her to hurt too.”

 

Delicately reaching out to take the teapot from Regina’s hands, Zelena pours them two cups of tea, adding sugar and milk. “You think Emma will make her hurt?” Zelena asks, handing Regina her cup as she leans against the counter.

 

Blowing on the liquid to cool it, Regina feels herself calm down, anger and bitterness dissipating to leave her empty. “Emma isn’t someone to be used,” she says into her cup, clutching the mug too tightly as she remembers the feeling of being pushed into pretending, of Emma telling her that the last thing she wanted was to take advantage of her, but doing so anyways. Regina feels betrayed all over again, and she’s angry at herself for ever allowing it to happen. “This whole thing was a mistake,” she whispers, wondering if Emma will feel the same way at the wedding, if pushing this experience will be taking advantage of Emma’s good nature.

 

“What do you want, Regina?” Zelena asks with exasperation, setting her mug down a little too forcefully.

 

Looking up, Regina sifts through every thought she has, breathing in deeply as she thinks of Mal and the life they used to have—of the compromises, and _Regina I’m too tired for your frivolities today_. She tries to remember the good times too, where there had been lazy days tracing each other’s skin, and laughter that spilled out of them with ease.

 

Regina thinks of love, of the wedding band on her finger that had been so important to her up until recently, of all the times she had tamped down on the urge to buy gifts and set out romantic dinners, to explore her sexuality with more than just Mal’s direction. Regina isn’t the person she used to be, and if she had killed Mal’s flame, then Mal had snuffed out Regina’s spirit too.

 

“I want,” she starts, palming her mug to feel the warmth seep into her cold bones, the feeling reminding her of when Emma had held her hand at the cinema, effortless and without expectation. She thinks of the coin Emma had given her at the wishing fountain, of the lollipop she had unwrapped with ease and handed over without thought for repayment. _Tell me what I can do to help,_ Emma had asked over and over again. Regina thinks of warm fingers catching her by the elbow when she had tripped, a carefree kiss to her cheek in public, _just the two of us and a view, right_?

 

Regina pinches the bridge of her nose when thoughts of Emma pound against her skull, when the feeling of being pressed intimately against her in the car comes rushing forward, of an engagement ring and wedding band being pulled off her finger in jest. _Anything_? Echoing in her mind as Emma had looked on at her in awe, fingers intertwined as they sat on her bed.

 

“I want to give someone something,” she answers eventually, “something priceless and meaningful. I want…” she smiles through her pain, choking on a laugh that holds no humour to it. “I want this weekend,” she says, “and then I want this goddamned house sold.” If Zelena’s smile is proud, then Regina doesn’t dwell on it, hiding behind her mug as she sips at her tea, finally breaking her fast.

 

…

 

The day goes quickly when the panic from not being ready for the wedding sets in, and although Zelena can be a pain in her behind, she helps clean up the broken frames and right the curtain rail before leaving for work. “I have an appointment at nine,” Zelena says in parting, and Regina waves her off before having a long, hot shower.

 

The ends of her hair damp and curling, Regina pulls on a white sundress with yellow flowers and straps on a pair of sandals. She feels better than she has in weeks, the pain in her shoulder all but disappeared, and her mind made up about the wedding. When she’s ready to step out of the house just after nine, phone clutched in her hand and purse hanging over her shoulder, Regina doesn’t expect to see Emma on the other side of her front door, hand poised as if to knock, her eyes red and raw as she clutches onto a shopping bag.

 

“Hi,” Emma croaks, looking as if she hadn’t slept the night before, formal pants and blazer a little skewed over a yellow blouse that matches Regina’s dress too intimately.

 

Stepping aside, a tinge of concern in her gaze, Regina ushers Emma inside and takes the bag from her hands. “Emma,” she says, the name sounding fragile in her mouth, “what—what are you doing here?”

 

Emma looks down at her heels sheepishly, tugging on the ends of her blazer sleeves with unease. “I got my three outfits,” she says, “I just—I wanted to show them to you before I had to leave for my next shift in case you wanted something else or…”

 

Regina can feel her features soften, the bag in her hand heavier now that she knows what’s inside it. “You didn’t have to. This—” she picks up the bag to make her point, “wasn’t necessary.”

 

“You were stressed about the outfits, and I don’t want you worrying about anything this weekend. You’re already going into this situation with—”

 

Shaking her head, Regina raises her hand for Emma to stop. The nervous energy radiating from her is dizzying, and Regina takes in a deep breath to centre herself before approaching the storm that is Emma. This is the first time they are seeing each other since the phone call, Emma’s broken rendition of her name still bouncing around in her head. Too many things lay unsaid between them, and Regina guides Emma to the couch where she sets the bag down on the floor, before taking a seat herself. “I think it would be best if I go to Marian’s wedding alone,” she says, voicing her decision out loud for the first time since her shower, the thought surprisingly coherent.

 

Emma frowns with confusion, turning toward Regina with hurt and alarm. “If this is because of what happened yesterday, then I’m sorry. The thing with Neal was out of line, I know, but I panicked when he asked me out and then one lie turned into ten, and then…” Trailing off, Emma swallows thickly and looks down at her shoes, probably realising that her cool demeanour that used to irritate Regina so has been dismantled. Nothing used to bother Emma— not leaving in the middle of the night, nor scathing remarks that had come from an insomniac older woman—but she looks flustered now, vulnerable and raw in a way that Regina might’ve taken advantage of before.

 

“Emma,” Regina calls gently, her voice smooth and wholesome in a way that it hasn’t been for so long. “How have you been sleeping?” Their roles are unnaturally reversed, and Regina swallows down any follow-up questions she might’ve had when Emma turns toward her with bloodshot eyes. To crawl through Emma’s emotional defences like this must be a first, because she’s running across to stores during her break to buy outfits so that Regina won’t be angry— and Regina had never envisioned the woman who insisted she was being blackmailed to look so distraught over another’s emotions. When had Regina become important enough to Emma for her feelings to matter? When did the scales of their emotional turbulence tip toward Emma who visibly shakes in her presence?

 

Perhaps Regina is reading this entirely wrong, and Emma doesn’t want someone to be important to her— or maybe she so desperately wants someone that she has clutched onto the first person who has come her way. _You looked like you could need someone… and maybe I need someone too_. Beyond upholding her mother’s legacy, Regina suspects that Emma might’ve revealed nuggets of her own truth without meaning to.

 

“That’s my line,” Emma says weakly, cutting through Regina’s thoughts. She tries to look put together even if she clutches onto the edge of the couch, fingernails digging into the fabric. The urge to run her fingertips over the veins on Emma’s wrist has Regina grip her own hands together tightly, wondering how she can find Emma in such a state to look so beautiful.

 

Forcing a smile onto her lips, Regina attempts to laugh, but it comes out flat, supressed by her concern. “I was going to buy you that dress and suit you tried on the last time,” Regina confesses, unable to figure out how to talk about the important things, not when everything feels as fragile as the broken glass in the bin.

 

Emma scoffs, a disbelieving, “but you don’t want me to come to the wedding?” being asked. If there’s the sound of fabric tearing, then Regina doesn’t make mention of it, not when she knows there will be a gaping hole in the couch when Emma leaves.

 

This time, Regina doesn’t stop herself from reaching out, fingers clasping over Emma’s thigh that trembles under her touch. “I don’t want to use you,” she confesses, “not for something as cheap as making my ex-wife jealous—that relationship…it ended when it needed to, and I’m going to see her at this wedding and be civil, because there _are_ other ways of attending an event with dignity. I don’t need to be in a relationship to have that.”

 

Nodding along with her words, Emma tenses further under her touch, the tendons in her neck straining as she holds in a breath. The seconds tick by, Regina growing more worried by the second as Emma remains silent, her chest heaving but no air going in or out. Eventually, just before Regina can do something drastic like call the ambulance, Emma takes in a shuddering breath and holds Regina’s gaze. “So you won’t use me, but I can use you?”

 

She sounds defeated, ashamed even, and Regina’s eyes shine with understanding. “Did he hurt you?” Regina asks softly, inching closer to Emma on the couch.

 

Emma shakes her head, gaze never wavering from Regina’s who subtly checks her for any injuries. “They know I have never been one for commitment,” she starts, Regina hanging onto every word as they move now from friends to something more intimate, “that I have a reputation of being a hit and run kind of girl, but I made it clear I would never be with any of them.” Regina nods, thumb running across Emma’s knee as she speaks, soothing and coaxing without her conscious knowledge. “Neal was adamant, and at first I thought he was joking, but it kept getting worse— and if I wasn’t dating anyone, then what was the problem, right?” Pausing, her grip on Regina’s couch easing just a little, Emma’s muscles relax under Regina’s palm as her features soften.

 

“Then I met you,” Emma says, and Regina’s eyes widen, her heart thumping wildly in her chest without her permission. “He asked me out again, and I didn’t think when I said I had a girlfriend, I didn’t think when your name came out of my mouth— I didn’t _think_.”

 

Regina sighs, closing her eyes for a moment as she leans closer to Emma, feeling both perplexed and sympathetic to the reasons that might’ve resulted in such an impulsive decision. Her chest aches, her heart squeezing with an intensity that makes her dizzy enough to forget everything she’s ever been raised to know. Is this how August felt when she had arrived unexpectedly? Offering no food or drink, barely managing to string a sentence together, whilst concentrating on fighting a blush that takes up all your brain power? “Did you prove it? Whatever your reasons for that were?” she manages to ask, her foot brushing against the bag that sits too close to them.

 

Licking her bottom lip, her shoulder leaning into Regina’s, Emma shakes her head in the negative. “Not to myself,” she answers, Regina breathing out a relieved breath when the implication of Emma’s words refers to Neal being disarmed by her stellar performance as _girlfriend_ the day before.

 

Releasing Emma’s thigh, Regina leans away from her to straighten her posture, staring straight ahead at the television set that hasn’t been put on since she met Emma. The anger at being put on the spot the day before is non-existent, larger battles to conquer than fake feelings that have long since become real, and she’s almost afraid to ask the question that might tear everything apart. “What—” she begins, working her jaw to build up the courage to continue, wishing now more than ever that they didn’t communicate in these half thoughts and unfinished words, where they must grasp at longing looks and fragile tones to decipher the hidden meaning behind each action. “You were going to ask for something,” she finally says, not meeting Emma’s eyes as the memory of the phone call from yesterday makes her shoulders tense.

 

Beside her, Emma stiffens, her body going rigid before she reaches down to pull the shopping bag up onto her lap. “I should go,” she says instead, “thank you for—for everything.”

 

 _Thank_ _you_ , Emma says, like Regina hasn’t learnt how to sleep at night again because of her, like she hasn’t unlocked the romantic that has been suppressed for years trying to accommodate the wrong person. Reaching out to snatch Emma’s wrist, Regina holds Emma there, towering over her with the same colour shirt as her dress, her eyes red and distressed, her energy raw and unguarded. “What do you want, Emma?” she asks, rasping the question out with too much emotion, “what do you _truly_ want?”

 

It’s a question Zelena had asked her not a few hours ago, the answer simple and surprising, and so much like the love Regina had heard stories about. Emma isn’t her however, and her fingers flex in the hold she doesn’t try to break free from, her body tense and gaze brittle as she visibly tries to find the courage to ask for what she wants. Her voice cracks when she finally speaks, the husked, “I want to know what it feels like to be loved,” piercing Regina’s soul.

 

Her grip loosens over Emma’s wrist, and Regina only remembers not to let go when Emma’s fingertips are barely within her grasp, her own curling to keep them securely within a hold that feels too delicate. “And me?” Regina asks thoughtlessly, Emma’s eyes widening before the question can be clarified, her throat constricting as she swallows.

 

“ _Regina_ ,” Emma says in a pained whisper, turning to leave once again, but the delicate hold proves to be stronger than Regina had originally thought, keeping Emma in place even as she stands from the couch so she can look Emma in the eyes. “ _Don’t_ ,” Emma warns, cracked wide open for Regina to see, to assume things that they aren’t ready for yet.

 

“What do you want from _me_ , Emma?” Regina asks boldly, drawing Emma closer to her, close enough to kiss, close enough that her free hand slides over Emma’s heated cheek. “You can ask me for anything, I promised you, didn’t I?” Emma nods in her hold, Regina stepping in closer until there isn’t any space between them anymore. “Ask me,” she implores, bringing their joined hands up to rest between their chests, the _thump_ of Emma’s heart rapid against the back of her palm. “Ask me,” Regina begs, forehead resting against Emma’s as she selfishly wants again, claiming and taking without any thought for anyone else.

 

Emma can’t stop trembling, Regina’s thumb sliding over her cheek to soothe her as she finds her words. “Please,” she whispers, their nose bumping, her eyes closing as Regina watches her struggle with voicing her desires. “Please, love me,” Emma rasps out, her voice so quiet that if Regina wasn’t so close, she wouldn’t have heard it.

 

Taking in a stuttering breath, something sparking to life inside her chest, Regina allows her fingers to slide into Emma’s hair, pressing herself closer to kiss away the doubt from Emma’s mind—she is anything but unlovable, and Regina has come to learn that the old-fashioned way, with an abundance of yearning and a mending heart healed by a stranger who is too important to lose.  “—Just for the weekend,” Emma whispers against Regina’s cheek, bypassing the kiss she thankfully didn’t see behind closed eyelids, her forehead dropping onto Regina’s shoulder as Regina’s eyes widen in shock. They’re practically hugging, Emma asking for an experience of something Regina already feels, the fire in her chest extinguished by the cloying thickness of agony pressing down heavily on her. She stands stiffly, her hands sliding down to rest against her sides as she tries to comprehend how she could have been so foolish.

 

Probably sensing her reluctance, Emma jerks away with embarrassment colouring her cheeks. “I didn’t mean—” she stutters, looking alarmed, “that’s… I should—”

 

 _The wedding_. Four days of a pretence that Emma wants to believe is real, not only for the benefit of Mal, but for her too. The only one not caught up in a web of lies will be Regina, a double pretence cancelling each other out. “Okay,” she says, her words echoing, nothing more than a selfish need of wanting it all. “I’ll do it.”

 

Emma stands in the doorway, her expression disbelieving as Regina is the one who offers herself up now. This is not the same as a request to sleep in the same bed together, but Emma is at the brink of her sanity in the same way Regina was at the time, and although she isn’t holding up someone’s legacy, Regina will do anything to make Emma happy. “You don’t—”

 

“I want to,” she argues, although there isn’t any bite to her words. “You deserve to be loved, even if this is just pretend.” If Emma’s face falls a little, then Regina ignores what it could possibly mean, not if she’s only as important as being Emma’s weekend special, and proving a point to a boy who won’t take no for an answer.

 

Hesitating at the doorway, Emma casts one last glance over her shoulder, and Regina tries to memorise her like this, with her hair shifting in the breeze, and her gaze so open and wanting. “I’ll be off work at four,” she says, “if you wanted to leave earlier.” And hour later than Regina had wanted to get moving, but still earlier than their designated time— an olive branch in the form of a compromise.

 

“I’ll pick you up at five,” Regina says softly, “we can have dinner together somewhere nice before we leave.” And she’s started this game already, falling into the role of significant other without much more prompting than the humble request of a deserving person. The ghost of Emma’s body still pressed against hers, Regina brings her hand up to clutch at the neckline of her dress, watching as Emma nods her agreement and makes her way out of the house with her three outfits in hand.

 

:::

 

Her car groans with the weight of her luggage when she finally packs the boot, the late afternoon sun beating down on the black paintwork and blinding Regina as she navigates toward the driver’s side. It’s a few hours drive and a three-night stay, but Regina has packed for a week at least, overly organised about anything that both she or Emma might need.

 

It’s just before half past four when she pulls out from the driveway, Zelena walking alongside the car with the housekeys in her hand. “Call me when you get to Emma’s,” she says seriously, “and then every hour after that.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Regina turns the car onto the road and pulls the handbrake up, grateful that there isn’t any traffic in the suburban area. “I’ll call you whenever we stop, but for now…” she hates goodbyes, hates the task she has given Zelena to complete whilst she’s away playing house. Getting out of the car, she fights her instincts as she engulfs Zelena in a hug, squeezing too tightly and pressing a kiss to her sister’s cheek. “Thank you,” she says instead, and Zelena hugs her back for just a second longer before letting her go.

 

“Have a good time,” Zelena says, following Regina as she sits back down, bending at the waist to keep her sister within her sights. “And don’t let Emma take advantage of you.” It’s said in jest, to have Regina roll her eyes again and slap her sister on the arm, but Regina knows that she’s putting herself through this for Emma, and if she’s taken advantage of during this ride, then that’s one more thing to add to this weekend.

 

Nodding, a hum of acknowledgement the only thing she gives Zelena, Regina starts the car and waves as she drives off, sunglasses perched on her nose to keep the sun out of her eyes and prevent other drivers from seeing the worried look in them.

 

…

 

“You’re on time,” Neal says, leaning against the front door without making room for Regina to go past. He eyes her sceptically, taking in the form fitting slacks she wears, and the towering red heels that match her sleeveless blouse. Regina knows she’s dressed to impress, ruby earrings glinting when she cranes her neck to see whether Emma might be nearby, one foot pushing into the threshold of the apartment with the other that follows despite Neal’s protest. She pushes past him, feminine and floral perfume penetrating the masculine stench that lingers where Neal stands.

 

“I’m here to pick Emma up,” she says formally, car keys jingling in her hand as she walks further into the apartment. The volume of the television lowers as if to announce her arrival, a gaping silence greeting her.

 

Something to her right clatters and breaks, the silence filled with a flustered, “Professor Mills!” as August tries to stand up with what looks like Regina’s leftover soup splattered across his thighs.

 

Raising an eyebrow in amusement, Regina makes to greet him, but a low, “ _wow_ ,” has her snap her gaze to the narrow hallway instead, Emma standing there with wide eyes and a scrutinising gaze that Regina stands straighter at.

 

“Ready to go?” she asks, hoping she doesn’t have any lipstick on her teeth when she offers Emma a smile.

 

Nodding, Emma blindly reaching for her bag behind her, Regina watches on with a smirk on her lips and quick enough reflexes to snatch the suitcase from Emma’s grasp before Neal does. “I feel underdressed,” Emma says sheepishly, hands tucked into the back pockets of her faded blue jeans, shoulders scrunching up to her ears as the blue tank top she wears wrinkles with the action.

 

As a friend, Regina should brush it off and offer shallow compliments to ease Emma’s insecurities, but as a girlfriend— one Regina has come to accept will be temporary—her methods involve a soft touch to the muscles on Emma’s arms that make her stomach clench, a significant look under a hooded gaze, and the licking of her lips that Emma watches intensely. “I think you look fine,” she says in a purr, Emma swaying toward her when she finally releases her hold on the younger woman.

 

Graham is the one to reach for Emma’s suitcase now, hefting it up onto his shoulder as he silently runs down the stairs ahead of them. Of all the roommates, Regina likes him the best, especially when all August can do is gape at her from across the room, and Neal stands awkwardly at the door like a kicked puppy. Emboldened by this power coursing through her veins, Regina reaches for Emma’s hand and intertwines their fingers together, taking sick pleasure in the way Neal splutters behind them.

 

Emma follows her down without protest, waving at August and Neal with her free hand as Regina tugs her along toward the car. There are three flights of stairs where Regina keeps a hold of Emma’s hand, walking her to the car where Graham waits with the distracted ease of an artist. He leans against the hood of the car, Emma’s suitcase resting against his legs as he stares up at the darkening sky without a care in the world. Regina wishes she could be more like him, where nothing seems to phase him, and his heart remains pure and protected against the tides of love.

 

“Thanks, Graham,” Emma says, patting her roommate on the shoulder as she heaves the bag up herself, muscles straining for Regina’s viewing pleasure. Barely managing to remember her role in this whole equation, Regina disables the car alarm and presses the button on her keys for the boot to open. Graham and Emma chat to themselves as they try to find space for Emma’s suitcase, shifting and repacking things as Regina watches them with only mild interest.

 

“Have fun, yeah?” Graham says, pulling Emma into a one-armed hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Regina looks on at them with fondness, worrying her bottom lip when she thinks of the magnanimous task she has ahead of her this weekend. The churning she hadn’t experienced for a whole day comes back, mixing the contents of her stomach with no care for the illusion of power she might’ve gained over the last few hours. Grasping the handle of the car door tightly, Regina nods her goodbye to Graham who stands with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for Emma to jump into the passenger seat before he bounds upstairs.

 

The air in the car has turned stale, neither of them speaking as Regina buckles up and adjusts the settings for the aircon. “Italian okay?” she asks, her voice sounding rough even to her own ears.

 

Emma looks at her with a frown, pulling on the strap of her seatbelt as she nods. She’s nervous, Regina realises— and finally finding the energy to groom herself to her former glory must be intimidating for Emma who has only seen her in loose fitted jeans and carrying bags under her eyes. Wanting to say something to diffuse the tension but not knowing what will help, Regina turns on the ignition and drives instead.

 

…

 

Fairy lights decorate the establishment, draping across the wooden sign that says _Marco’s_ in big bold letters. The lights travel down, creating a makeshift canopy over tables that are bursting with life, lit lanterns a centrepiece on each table that houses couples of every shape, colour, and size.

 

It’s romantic in the most cliché of ways, where the waiters speak sweet Italian to their customers, and the smell of melting cheese and spice hangs in the air. It’s a place where people can make quiet conversation and hold hands over the table, shy gazes speaking their own language. This isn’t a place someone brings their fake girlfriend to without anyone keeping tabs on them.

 

“Are you sure this is the place?” Emma asks timidly, Regina recalling how she herself had reacted similarly to the cinema Emma insisted they go to.

 

Shrugging, Regina gets out of the car and shuts her door gently. When Emma doesn’t seem to follow, Regina rounds the car to open the passenger door, peering inside with an exasperated sigh. “It’s only food, Emma,” she says gently, offering her a hand in invitation. The calm she feels at urging Emma to follow through on something that is making her silently suffer should be alarming, but after this weekend her house will be on the market for sale, and her relationship with Mal would have hopefully been spared of the bitterness that has followed them since the affair—a little sadness for the sake of Emma’s happiness is the least she can afford to lose in the face of all of that.

 

Grasping her hand, Emma pulls herself up from her seat, following Regina into the restaurant with only the slightest hint of something not quite right. “Table for two?” Regina asks, forgoing reservations and formalities when the family owned restaurant doesn’t operate on anything more than walk-ins.

 

A man with smiling eyes and grey hair leads them to a table between two elderly couples. They stick out like a sore thumb here, but Regina feels more at ease when she finally sits down, the fairy lights from above casting a warm glow over Emma who sits opposite her. Not for the first time, Regina gets struck by how beautiful Emma is in her simplicity. Perhaps she is bias now, but every part of Emma is pure and driven to do good, and even her selfishness asks for something she already deserves in the first place.

 

Picking up her menu, Emma scans the dishes and tries to subtly look at Regina over the laminated cardboard. Regina doesn’t miss the way she blushes when she’s caught, of how she swallows thickly when Regina’s gaze never wavers from her date despite the menu in her hands.

 

“You didn’t have to…” Emma breathes, looking around the establishment with wonder in her eyes. “Dressing up, taking me out—this wasn’t, I mean…this was a bad idea.”

 

The smile that sits on Regina’s lips stubbornly refuses to move. She feels in charge, older than Emma for the first time since knowing her, and the amusement at seeing this entire situation from a different perspective makes her want to laugh. How many times has Emma been in her shoes, watching as she broke down over the smallest of things, _this was a bad idea_ spilling from her lips as she gave herself an out? Emma had been cool and calm then, Regina’s haphazard energy affecting her like water off a duck’s back.

 

Reaching out to take Emma’s hand in hers, Regina breathes in deeply, her gaze cast down as she gathers her thoughts. “Tell me,” she says, picking her eyes up to Emma’s, “what I can do to help.”

 

Emma’s bottom lip should not wobble at that, not when it’s essentially a stolen line, but she looks as if Regina has just promised her the world, a look that shouldn’t be on the face of someone who only wants to be loved for the weekend. “There’s nothing you can do,” Emma says eventually, pulling a smile up onto her face that looks like torture.

 

At her wits end, Regina struggles to understand why Emma behaves in this way. Her energy is different somehow, going from one extreme to the next without any restraint, like a barrier had been broken and every emotion Emma had buried seems to slam into her all at once. Not pushing the matter, Regina releases Emma’s hand and holds up the menu, her gaze never straying far from the frown between Emma’s eyes that doesn’t seem to smooth over.

 

“Would you like a pizza?” Regina asks, “we can order a large and split it?” Judging by Emma’s previous eating habits, Regina takes a guess on the food, watching as that frown she had thought to be permanent finally eases up.

 

“Okay,” Emma agrees, setting her menu down, “can we get the rib one?”

 

Chuckling to herself at how much she’s come to tolerate Emma’s antics, Regina waves the waiter over and relays their order, Emma’s grin widening when she adds extra cheese to the pizza. A _child_ , an adorable child. “A glass of water, please,” she finishes off with, handing her menu back.

 

“A glass of _wor-tah_ , please,” Emma mocks, her own order of a Coca-Cola not surprising in the least.

 

Regina scoffs, crossing one leg atop the other as she leans back into her chair. “Do you have a problem with my order, Miss Swan?” she asks, well rested and so easily picking for a fight that she only hopes Emma can keep up with.

 

Raising both her eyebrows, now seemingly comfortable in Regina’s presence, Emma’s gaze tracks Regina’s posture as she adjusts her own. “Who orders water at a place like this?” Emma asks with a hint of disbelief, raising her hands up to gesture at the dim lights and handmade furniture that Regina absolutely loves.

 

Pursing her lips to keep her smile to herself, Regina fails to completely hide the amused look that colours her cheeks a pretty shade of rose. “A place like this?” she inquires, tilting her head to the side, “don’t you like it?”

 

Emma snaps her gaze back to Regina, holding their stare even as the waiter brings them their drinks and sets it on the table, informing them that their food will be ready in another fifteen minutes. When the waiter leaves them alone once again, Regina blindly reaching for her glass of water just to have something to do with her hands, she doesn’t expect Emma to speak— but when she does, the unapologetic, “ _I love it_ ,” directed right at Regina, has her hand slip, the glass tumbling down onto the table where it rolls down to the floor with a crash.

 

No one moves for a long time, Emma’s significant stare boring into her soul until they are disrupted by someone calling for help. On autopilot, Regina reaches for a few serviettes to wipe down the table, Emma gently removing the tissues from her hand with a fond smile. “I’ve got it,” she says, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

 

“And what if I do anyways?” Regina finds herself asking, bending to help pick up the pieces of the glass whilst the waiter hurries for a broom.

 

Shrugging one shoulder, Emma taking the pieces of glass from Regina’s hand to hold within her own, she swallows thickly, and Regina wonders what emotion she tries to hide now. Emma says, “it only hurts if it’s real, right?” and Regina aches with her, watching as she continues to pick up the pieces of glass unprotected.

 

She should have expected it, because this is as cliché as it gets, but Emma’s, “ _ow_!” has her react on instinct, grabbing the affected hand to bring it up to her face where she inspects the line of blood on Emma’s right thumb.

 

“You don’t have to get hurt to know that it’s real, Emma!” she snaps, brushing her fingers over the area to check for glass, before she instinctively brings it to her mouth to suck on the wound. If Emma’s lips part and her eyes darken, then Regina blames it on everything other than her tongue gently stroking Emma’s thumb, her lips sucking on the spot to clean the area before she awkwardly releases Emma’s thumb from her mouth, no doubt leaving behind lipstick marks on her skin.

 

A gentle touch presses against her cheek, that same thumb stroking along her bottom lip to initiate something so brazenly outside the line of appropriate. “Okay,” she surrenders, the both of them kneeling beside broken glass that the waiter carefully sweeps away, Emma’s wound clotting already. “It’s real.”

 

Again with the half meanings and nonsensical phrases that Regina so clearly understands, but only wishes she didn’t just to retain an air of ignorance.

 

“Our food is here,” she rasps, pushing up from the ground to sit in her chair, squirting a blob of hand sanitiser onto her palm and passing it along to Emma without conscious thought as the waiter apologises once more. She pays him no heed, not when Emma charmingly smiles and brushes the apology off as unnecessary, relaxed and sure of herself again whilst Regina daintily sips from a new glass of water, wondering how she’s going to manage the rest of the weekend without blurting her feelings out.


	6. Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, there was simply too much to edit and I didn't time myself properly, but this super long chapter hopefully makes up for that.
> 
> Yes, this chapter is called arguments (and follows that prompt), because it fit that theme better. I still plan on using the Travel pt.2 prompt however, and will be writing and positing it further on in the fic.
> 
> That being said, due to the school holidays that stretches for two weeks, and my family being very present, I might not be timeous with the next two updates. If this will be the case, then I will inform everyone on my twitter [@_sunofthemoon](https://twitter.com/_sunofthemoon)

It starts as a light drizzle, nothing more than a mist that Regina doesn’t bother to use her wipers for, not when she’s more concerned about the smell of cheese that seeps into the leather of her car. “If you wanted to still eat, we could have sat at the restaurant for a while longer.”

 

With the window rolled all the way down, Emma shrugs half-heartedly at the question and chews quietly on the last slice of pizza she had made the waiter put into a takeaway box. She seems enthralled by the weather, her hand reaching out to touch the silky strands of rain that becomes heavier as Regina drives.

 

This time, Regina does switch on the wipers, struggling to see beyond her headlights as to what lies ahead. As much as she loves the rain, driving through it is another matter entirely, especially when she’s only just recently been graced by a full night’s sleep that leaves her craving for just a little more. Wiping her cheek free of the water that splashes from Emma’s open window, Regina growls as she presses the button for it to roll all the way back up again.

 

“Hey!” Emma pouts, paying Regina the attention she deserves for the first time since they left the restaurant. Regina hasn’t received any compliments other than the initial _wow_ from Emma, nor has Emma noticed that she’s a little more put together than usual—and it would be easier to get upset at that had Emma the decency to spare her a glance for more than two seconds at a time. “Why did you do that?”

 

Scoffing, Regina looks to her side and notices how Emma’s jacket is the only thing affected by the rain, small dark spots forming where the water soaks into the denim. “Unlike you, dear,” she huffs, “the rain doesn’t do well with my hair, and I will not allow it to get ruined when I painstakingly found the time to have it done.” And maybe she is a little petty and attention starved, but all these feelings swirling around in her head leaves her itching for something that goes beyond telepathic conversations and fleeting looks.

 

Feeling Emma’s gaze on her, Regina stiffens as she tries to keep her foot on the accelerator, heel catching on the carpet when she moves to press lightly on the brake instead. Turning around a bend, Regina squints against the sheets of rain that pelts against the roof of the car, knuckles white around the steering wheel as she prays for their safe journey. She had expected it to be warm out tonight, romantic and filled with longing gazes that would allow them to play soft music as they blush at inappropriate lyrics—not this storm that has her flinch when the sky splits in two, illuminating the road ahead that could deceive anyone into believing that it might’ve been swept away by a river.

 

From beside her, Regina can hear Emma’s intake of breath, the start of a compliment that might have something to do with her freshly cut hair, or manicured fingernails, or the fact that she’s wearing foundation today—but ten seconds after the lightning comes thunder, and they both jump at the terrifying sound.

 

Emma says, “you should pull over.” There’s an unmistakable tremble to her voice, and it’s unfortunately, not born from any reason that would make Regina swell with pride.

 

Shifting forward in her seat, stubbornness clinging to her even now, Regina keeps driving at a steady speed with her wipers up at their most dramatic level. “It’s fine,” she insists, silently cursing herself for not checking the weather or changing out of her heels before beginning the drive, “just hand me my glasses from my handbag.” Maybe with those she might be able to see better and stave off the headache that teases her from behind her ears.

 

Emma’s body bends into the backseat to retrieve the glasses, and Regina leans into her door as she tries to avoid being hit in the face with Emma’s hip, but a crack of unsuspecting thunder makes her gasp, Emma jerking back at the sudden sound that has Regina instinctively reach out for her. One hand on the steering wheel, the other spreads to prevent her fake girlfriend from flying backside first into the windscreen, her palm cupping a gloriously fit bum.

 

“I got it!” Emma shrieks, Regina red in the face as she quickly removes her hand, clearing her throat to rid herself of any lingering embarrassment that might sit in her throat. She doesn’t dare look over at Emma who has settled back into her seat, seatbelt securely clipped into place — Regina thinks it must be to protect her from any more accidental hand slips, and _definitely not_ because of the storm that’s far more life threatening. “Here,” Emma says, handing the glasses over, Regina blindly reaching for the black frame that she harshly shoves upon her nose.

 

The relief from her impending headache is palpable, and the fingerprints she usually doesn’t bother to clean off from her specs is miraculously gone. “Did you clean my glasses?” Regina asks, just to fill the space with a different noise than the thunderous boom from above.

 

Shrugging, Emma clicks her tongue and pulls her jacket closer around her midriff, eyes trained on the road ahead as if she herself holds all the energy for their safe travel. Silence engulfs them once more, Regina leaning forward against her steering as she tries to navigate her way around a sinkhole without cutting into traffic. It’s six thirty on a Thursday evening, and she’s not the only one who needs to get somewhere, not with people coming off work and others trying to get to it.

 

“You must think me a fool,” she whispers to herself, disappointed and agitated at the turn of events.

 

A sigh draws her attention, gaze cast to Emma who still looks out at the road with unwavering dedication. “You’re not a fool, Regina” she says just as quietly, “this isn’t going the way you wanted it to, I get that—and I know… everything is a mess, but let’s focus on one thing at a time, yeah? Right now, I hate to say it, but we need to get off the road.” Regina loathes the idea of being off schedule, but the storm seems more powerful than her car or strength of will, and whatever is happening between Emma and herself is so knotted, that she’s beginning to feel a little uneasy at the thought of picking everything apart in such inclement weather.

 

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Regina relaxes her grip on the steering wheel and looks for an exit from the freeway. She’s sure they can manage to navigate their way out from wherever they find themselves once the storm has passed. “You were not supposed to hear that,” is all she says, unwilling to give Emma the win on this.

 

The look she gets in return for that statement is bitter enough to leave an aftertaste, but Regina focuses instead on how Emma’s jaw goes slack and pupils dilate at the sight of her wearing glasses. She doesn’t get to memorise the look for much longer however, an exit coming up that she takes with only the slightest of winces as another lit up fork pierces the sky.

 

Slowly inching along the small dark road, Regina cranes her neck from side to side, trying to spot a place they can park off. She doubts that they will find a hotel or decent accommodation here, not when it looks like this road goes into farmland that will most likely stretch for acres. Wasting fuel on a pointless drive is not going to be another failure in Regina’s books for this road trip.

 

“There,” Emma says excitedly, patting Regina on the thigh to get her attention. Up ahead, surrounded by mist from the rain, Regina can make out the flashing lights of what she assumes must be a carnival.

 

“Absolutely not,” she says adamantly, “I did not come off track for you to go to the most cliché of places during this _romantic_ weekend.” Perhaps the word romantic had come out with too much bitterness, but Emma’s hand that remains on her thigh squeezes tightly before shaking her leg to get her attention once more.

 

Pouting, the effects powerful despite not looking directly at it, Emma continues to silently hound Regina who finds herself gritting her teeth at her lack of will. “I doubt it’s open anyways,” Emma tries convincing her, “and I don’t see any other place to park—do you?”

 

Grumbling for the lack of any other response, Regina drives toward the carnival, Emma’s hand still warm against her thigh as she turns into the parking lot. It isn’t covered unfortunately, and the rain keeps coming down onto the roof of her Mercedes without mercy, trapping them in a cage of water and drowning them with the secrets that lie within the car. Unable to go anywhere else however, Regina settles for parking with a view of the lit up Ferris wheel, the deserted carnival looking nothing short of eerie in the dark. Switching off the ignition, Regina pushes her seat back to stretch out her legs and removes her seatbelt to get comfortable. “If we get killed by a possessed clown, I will kill _you_ ,” she says over the sound of the rain, Emma patting her thigh to calm her as she stares unabashedly at the Ferris wheel like it’s telling her fortune.

 

There’s so much around them, bags of their past that they lug around but ignore, and Regina knows this is the perfect time to bring up some important topics, but she can’t help but look at Emma in the dark, admiring her like this without fake titles and real feelings that seem to cloud her judgement more often than not.

 

Releasing a breath, Emma shifts forward in her seat after unclipping her seatbelt, staring through the windscreen as she rests her chin on her folded elbows that make a home on the dashboard. “What were you thinking?” Emma asks, turning at last to look at Regina through her lashes, the dim light from the Ferris wheel casting them both in a harsh glow that Regina associates with strip clubs—and it isn’t like she doesn’t feel bare like this, open and wanting for Emma who makes her feel things beyond the norm. “When you planned this trip, I mean?”

 

Pursing her lips in thought, Regina rests her elbow on the car door and curls her fingers under her chin, wondering where this line of questioning will take them. “I wasn’t really thinking,” she says, gesturing to the rain outside, “clearly.” They’ve barely been driving for an hour before everything went to hell, and they’re so off schedule that Regina doubts they might make it into Marian’s wedding venue before all the other guests. She most certainly does not want to _mingle_ when she’s battling off feelings for her fake girlfriend.

 

Emma says slowly, “these things happen,” like she’s read Regina’s mind and knows the exact thing to say to soothe her worried thoughts. She doesn’t reach out to touch like Regina would have however, and the fact that there still are some boundaries in place makes Regina feel a smidgen better about everything that might come next.

 

The quiet moment between them shouldn’t be ruined, but the rhythmic sound of the rain outside coupled with just the tinge of fear from the thunder gives Regina enough courage to broach a touchy subject. “I know you wanted this,” she starts, running her sweaty palm down over her pants, “but you seem reluctant to… partake in it.” She tries being delicate about it, acting more as concerned friend than inquisitive not-so-fake lover. “If this is because you feel uncomfortable with—with _me_ in any way, then…” Removing her glasses, Regina places them on the dashboard, cowardly using it as an excuse not to look too invested in Emma’s shifting expressions.

 

Shaking her head, Emma grimaces at Regina as she pulls back to sit in her seat properly, fingers twisting within each other. Regina drops her gaze to watch as Emma weaves her fingers with the distracted confidence of someone who does this too often, the mismatched patterns mesmerising in their own way. “May I ask you a question?” Emma asks, shifting just a little closer to Regina, “this will help me answer yours.”

 

Nodding her head, Regina licks her lips and shifts her posture to lean her shoulder against the seat, caressing Emma with her gaze in a way that can’t be mistaken for anything other than affection in the dark. “You can ask me anything,” she says, “I _surprisingly_ have no secrets from you.” Except _one_ —although how many times has she confessed her feelings in a roundabout way? Emma had unknowingly become her confidant with no more than broken phrases and half-thought words, but she still seems so ignorant about Regina’s true feelings, naïve in the best of ways.

 

Mirroring her position, Emma turns toward Regina with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, looking thoughtful and concentrated on a question that could answer all of Regina’s doubts. “What would you do,” she begins, picking her gaze up to seek Regina’s in the dark, her light eyes glowing with the fluorescent lighting from the Ferris wheel. The atmosphere is only broken by the blinding light of the sky for a second, Regina bracing herself for the thunder that delays its arrival. Emma reaches out to place a hand on her tense arm, gentle and real in ways that the weather is not, the question stalled for only a few moments before Emma continues, “what would you do if I had to kiss you right now?”

 

Regina’s eyes must widen to an alarming width, because Emma quickly sits up and grabs her by the shoulders. “I mean,” Emma stutters, Regina’s heart spluttering in just about the same way, unbidden thoughts crossing her mind as her eyes, although comically wide, drift down to pink lips that she can’t help but imagine kissing now. Regina can just about feel how good it would be to press her lips against Emma’s, to claim and provoke in ways that the Gods may envy, but Emma’s nervous stutter finally filters through, “I mean— if I were someone you loved, in this situation with you…”

 

“I’d—I would,” and her tongue fails her, any appropriate response thrown out into the rain when she thinks about the small space they find themselves in, the windows fogged up, and the air hot and heavy. There are other things she would do, things that might seem juvenile and frivolous, but Emma doesn’t need to know about that. “I don’t know,” she answers, the lie accompanied by her stiff shoulders that shrug off Emma’s hands.

 

The look of disappointment that crosses Emma’s face shouldn’t be so upsetting, but Regina feels the sting of it anyways, sighing out in defeat as she looks out of the window toward the Ferris wheel. “You said you were a hopeless romantic,” Emma says despondently, taking a breath to say something else, but stopping at the last moment.

 

Closing her eyes, drawing strength from the weather and the darkness alike, Regina heaves out a tired breath and turns back to Emma with a defeated smile. “If you kissed me, I would kiss back.” What else is there to say? She hasn’t thought about Emma sexually before, but such a question has her wonder what it would be like to go beyond the occasional hand hold and fleeting touches. She can’t think of anything explicit with Emma, not ready for such intimacy with another just yet, but to be free to express affection in physical ways where she isn’t hiding behind a pretence would be nice.

 

Visibly excited at the direction this seems to be going in, Emma asks, “and then?”

 

“What do you mean— _and then_?” because surely there can’t be anything else.

 

“I kiss you, you kiss back, and then what would you do?” Emma is adamant about this, leaning forward to hear Regina’s response, no doubt trying to catch every word before it gets swallowed up by the sound of the rain.

 

Frowning, Regina darts her gaze around the car and tries to think of what she would do next. If Emma dared to kiss her, they most likely would be kissing for a long time after that, but when they can’t move their mouths any longer and breathing becomes difficult, what then? “I’d probably ruin the moment and pay you a compliment,” she says drily, toning down the enthusiasm she feels after imagining such things, ideas about running out in the rain and dancing to no music thrown aside to seem sane in the face of someone who might not appreciate her romance.

 

Arms crossed over her chest, Emma nibbles on her bottom lip, a nervous tick Regina has been noticing of late. “Do you know what someone else—anyone else would have done in this situation?” she asks Regina, although doesn’t give her the time to answer when she laughs humourlessly into the small space instead. “If I kissed someone in a situation like this, and I have kissed quite a few— I would have been kissed back, and then guided to the backseat where I would be thoroughly fucked. I’d get dressed afterwards, then make my way home.” Regina’s breath hitches when Emma turns back to her, longing and yearning all clear on her face to see. “I wouldn’t have gotten any compliments,” she whispers.

 

Somehow it makes sense, some of it at least, but Regina can’t live on these half truths any longer. Sliding her palm up to rest against Emma’s cheek, Regina breathes out a husked, “ _Emma_ ,” the name heavy with concern and devotion that the young, naïve woman could not know of.

 

“I have never gotten cliché,” she confesses, the dark blurring the lines between them even when lightning continues to strike the sky, casting a light on things that should remain within their boundaries. “I want _romance_. I want the thrill and rush of doing something foolish—I want you to be the hopeless romantic you’ve buried for however long. Whatever you want to do, no matter how—how stupid you think it is, I _want_ it.”

 

“Oh _, Emma_ …” Regina breathes like a prayer, her thumb sliding along Emma’s cheek as she leans in a little closer, fragile and wanting with the rain pounding down outside, a streak of lightning reflecting in Emma’s eyes. Staring at every little detail she can within that light, the leather squeaks as she bends forward just a little more, gaze dropping down to Emma’s lips that part in wait. “I want to give you _everything_ ,” Regina whispers, feeling like a teenager drunk on her first love, fingertips tingling as Emma reaches out to press her hand against her own.

 

They’re falling, hurtling toward each other with nothing and no one to stop them. Regina foolishly allows her eyes to drift closed, feeling the first whisper of a touch against her lips, soft breath caressing her cheek before she gathers the courage to press forward— her ten seconds run out however, the image of Emma’s lit up eyes fading as a _boom!_ erupts around them, Regina and Emma jerking apart in shock.

 

“Are you okay?” Emma asks in a faraway voice as Regina presses her hand against her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow whilst the feeling of humiliation and fear washes over her. She can’t kiss Emma and pretend to fake her way through this relationship, not when her lips will tingle of a ghost of a touch, and her body will awaken with only the gentle call of her name from Emma. It would be so easy to play into this, to forget truly and wholly of the life that she’s driving away from, but when this weekend is over, what then?

 

Wheezing out an awkward laugh, Regina nods her head in the affirmative, staring straight ahead at nothingness as she allows her fears to anchor her. “Yes,” she confirms, “I’m okay.”

 

They each sit in their designated seats, Regina avoiding Emma’s eyes as she pulls her arms closer around herself. Not daring to glance over to decipher whatever emotion may sit upon pretty features, Regina drowns within her own thoughts as she waits for the rain to slow down. “So that’s what you would do if I kissed you, huh?” she hears Emma say, giving the both of them an out that she gladly takes with both hands.

 

“That’s more or less what I would do with someone I love,” Regina says quickly, as if delaying a response will deteriorate the quality of the lie.

 

Emma exhales shakily beside her. “Good,” she breathes, chest heaving almost as hard as Regina’s, her cheeks stained rose. “I’ve never had someone treat me like that before, and I know I’m selfish for asking, but I want it so _badly_.” When Regina turns to finally look at her, she sees both desperation and devotion in Emma’s eyes, the things Regina had thought her too young to know about embracing them without remorse. “You are the only person I know who loves like this.” Softly, and with such calm accuracy, Regina almost forgets herself when she listens to Emma’s sweet words, body coiled with anticipation that she doesn’t recognise. Wanting to reach out again, to pull Emma into a kiss that should have been theirs, Regina takes in a harsh breath and looks down at her shoes instead.

 

Bold in the night and vulnerable in the day, Regina realises that she doesn’t know what to do with Emma regardless, not when her chest squeezes and her plans for this weekend seem to melt the longer she stays within Emma’s company. Not knowing what to say to diffuse the tension, Regina does the one thing she’s very good at when in the presence of someone stifling—make an excuse and move away. “I can’t drive in heels,” she says, “I’m going to get a pair of flats from my bag.” Unbothered by the rain, or that her perfectly coiffed hair might frizz, Regina realises that she cannot stay in the same confided space as Emma for a minute longer without doing something foolish.

 

“Regina wait—!” Emma calls, but Regina ignores her and steps outside, a gasp sounding from her lips when the rain splashes against her head. It doesn’t take more than a second for her to get soaked, blouse sticking to her stomach and hair flattening against her scalp. She must look like a mess, with makeup running down her face and heels slipping on the tar when she roughly closes her car door.

 

An appropriate reaction is called for, and Regina stares up at the sky with her teeth bared, fists clenched by her side as she yells out a well-deserved, “ _f-fuck_!” Everything is going off track, muddled and mixed by her expectations and emotions, and all she can do is helplessly go along with it whilst trying not to get hurt in the process.

 

She’s barely outside for more than a minute before Emma joins her, denim jacket over her head that she attempts to share with Regina. “Come back inside,” Emma shouts, the rain louder under the denim that can’t keep the water at bay, not when it puddles in the middle of the jacket and pours down in a steady stream between the two women who stand too far apart.

 

Zelena would call this a princess tantrum, but the cold makes her think clearly, clears her mind of images that have no place in her head when all this is only supposed to last for a weekend—and perhaps Regina might be more alarmed at the fact that she’s become a creature who craves touch, the rain doing nothing to quell the desire she has to leap across the space between them and kiss Emma senseless. Anyone else would have shouted her name whilst staying safely within the confides of the car, only rooting around for an umbrella or something equally as hardy against the weather before going in search of her, but Emma stands before her only armed with a denim jacket and concern. This undulated care is what makes Regina weak for her, actions and words all blurring together until she’s a heaving mess.

 

“Why the hell did you come outside, now?” she asks instead, ignoring her instinct to tell Emma that she can’t do this anymore. What good would that do besides put another wrench in their plans?

 

Exhaling, Emma shifts closer until their chests are pressed together, the warmth from Emma’s body causing her to shiver. “It’s raining,” she says obviously, like she herself doesn’t know why she had followed Regina outside.

 

The denim provides them with an illusion of intimacy that should not feel this romantic, and Regina hates that she secretly loves how this weather lends a hand in slowly pulling out the idealist in her. She wants to take Emma by the hand and break into the carnival like delinquents, kiss and play catch in the rain until they have to drive again. But she can’t do those things, and she can’t possibly continue this conversation without blurting out her desires. “I can see that, Miss Swan,” Regina snaps, pushing past Emma to the boot, unbothered now by the rain that seems to slow.

 

“Regina, leave it,” Emma pleads, grabbing at her hand to get her to come back inside the car. “I can open the boot from the backseat for you. You’re going to get sick.”

 

“I’m already sick!” The words burst out of her, no place to hide them any longer when Emma continually behaves in the way she wishes Mal had. There’s so much to Emma that she absolutely _loves_ — the thought shocking enough for her to brace herself on the closed boot of her car, closing her eyes against the pounding rain. “I can’t pretend, Emma,” she says, voice grating as the words leave her mouth, raw against her throat when she speaks them out loud.

 

The denim jacket that’s been doing bugger all is dropped from where Emma holds it, the fabric clutched between her fingers as she stares at Regina with an unreadable expression. “You can have me,” she says, sounding confident and sure. “If it helps, if this is what you need—” Regina watches as Emma bites her lip, exposed muscles tensing and relaxing as rivulets of water run through the grooves of her arm.

 

The hesitance in the way Emma holds herself has Regina frown, especially after that confident statement that leaves her baffled. The weight of everything they’ve been trying to keep above this situation seems to come down on them, lightning striking in the distance that seems further away than it was before, but still illuminates the faults in their plan with the humour of a God.  

 

She can see how everything might go downhill, how Emma might translate her reluctance to continue this when she only just advocated for this idea a few hours ago. “I physically,” she starts, gesturing at herself as she struggles to hold it all together, “cannot pretend. This is _agonising_ ,” she continues, slapping her hand on the boot, water splashing on them both.

 

Setting her jacket on the car, Emma swallows thickly and hastily runs her fingers through her hair to unsuccessfully keep it out of her eyes. “You asked me what I wanted, but do you even know what you want, Regina?” It must be so easy for Emma to call her out on her bullshit, to press against her with such aggressiveness that she burns from the inside out.

 

Unable to answer, to tell Emma that this pretence isn’t the matter when it’s entirely too real,  Regina gasps when Emma tugs her closer by her hips. “Is this what you want?” Emma asks roughly, and Regina only manages to shake her head in the negative, suddenly afraid. “If the payment you want is to fuck me, then I won’t blame you. You won’t be the first to only want me for my bo—”

 

Disgusted, Regina shoves Emma back with as much strength as she can muster, but Emma isn’t so hard to move, and her heels skid against the slippery tar to have her flail for support. Fingertips reaching out for something, _anything_ to ground her, the only thing Regina manages to find is Emma’s strong grip on her arm, fingernails digging into her elbow as she’s jerked back into an unwanted embrace.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Regina hisses, curling her fingers into Emma’s tank-top, the other gripping onto her bicep almost possessively. “Don’t you dare label me like the rest.” Emma’s eyes are like fire, fierce and angry and so bitterly beautiful. Stubbornly clinging to whatever pride she has left, Regina reaches out for her car to steady herself, her free hand pushing Emma back so that she can walk to the driver’s seat with whatever dignity she can muster.

 

Soaking wet and humiliated, Regina grimaces as she removes her shoes to toss into the backseat, waiting for Emma who stands in the rain just a little longer, her jaw visibly tensed and jacket forcefully grabbed before she makes her way to the passenger side. Angrily slamming the door closed, Emma clips on her seatbelt and stares straight ahead at the Ferris wheel, glaring at it as if it were the cause of their tiff, whilst Regina huffs as she pulls her seat forward to adjust it for a comfortable drive.

 

This time, when she switches the ignition on and reverses out of the parking lot, Emma doesn’t complain about the weather, nor does she glance over at Regina with appreciation when she finally remembers to put on her glasses that does nothing to chase away her headache this time.

 

…

 

They drive for two hours in silence with the heater cranked up, the rain having stopped to leave the roads wet and shining under the headlights of the car. Her hair is a curly mess, makeup washed away and gone, and Emma snoozes against the leather seat with her first day in a fake relationship spent over an argument. She’s supposed to give Emma everything that was asked for, no matter if it hurt her in the end, but Regina has always been a selfish lover, and the thought of spending the entire weekend in this absolute suffering has her panic.

 

They’re only halfway through this six hour trip that a flight could have cut by five, but Regina hadn’t been thinking at the time, not when she had sleepless nights to deal with and a broken heart that’s breaking all over again. Besides, Regina had thought that driving along the countryside toward Marian’s wedding venue would be relaxing, where she could appreciate the views and the silence of the night that she hadn’t suspected would be so tense.

 

Pulling into a rest stop, Regina parks her car at a petrol station and switches off, mindful of Emma who sleeps peacefully even as she rolls down the window to speak quietly to the attendant. The garage is packed with people who are travelling like them, some of them sitting down at the restaurant for something to eat, whilst others mill about aimlessly to stretch their legs. It’s all lit up and inviting, an exciting experience reduced to nothingness over her inability to enjoy the moment.

 

The few minutes she allows herself to breathe remind her to call Zelena, but she’s already emotionally exhausted, too drained and fragile for Zelena to cut her open and inspect everything that’s gone wrong during this trip so far. A quick text to say she’s okay and at the halfway point will do, her phone grabbed from the backseat with only a groan of protest when she has to stretch to retrieve it. Typing out something simple and to the point, a message that won’t alarm Zelena when she finally reads the text, Regina hits the send button and drops her phone into the empty cupholder.

 

The tank full again, Regina moves the car into an appropriate parking spot, where she dares to reach out for Emma, gently shaking her awake once she’s ready to deal with the younger woman again. “We’re at the halfway stop,” she says softly, still embarrassed about her outburst and the offer Emma had made. How many times had she tried to kiss Emma since she met her? The assumption of wanting such intimacies couldn’t have been far off from the impression Regina had given.

 

When Emma rubs her eyes and sits up, Regina doesn’t linger in the car to provide an opportunity for a discussion that she’s too tired to have, instead bracing herself for the cold that runs up her feet when she steps onto the wet pavement. Full of hot air and pride, she had refused to rummage through her luggage for a pair of flats, her heels discarded in the backseat with no thought to wear them again, and Regina had to therefore, resort to driving barefoot like some vagabond. She regrets everything now, but more so when Emma sneezes from inside the car, reminding her of how stubborn they had both been to continue their trip in wet clothes and bruised egos.

 

Opening the boot to pull out a towel and some clean clothes, Regina waits for Emma who eventually makes her way over, red eyed and hurt. “I’ll take my luggage,” she says before Regina can say anything to brush the situation under the rug. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll find my way home from here.”

 

Shorter than Emma without her heels, Regina panics as Emma lifts her suitcase up from where it’s nestled, the ends of her hair still damp as it clings to her arms that flex with the exertion. “Emma,” Regina breathes, grasping onto her arm to stop her progress, “you don’t have to do this.”

 

Her relationship with Mal seemed to deteriorate like this, with Regina reigning in on everything she hadn’t liked, and trying so desperately hard to make her stay. There were silences in the house that still echo along the walls, a routine that she had stuck by without anything else to do, and a love that shifted from the people they were to what surrounded them instead. Everything with Emma seems fast forwarded, experiencing all these feelings within a space of a week that has her bent at the knees.

 

“I don’t want to fight with you,” she rasps, seeing the ugly parts of the person who stuck around through hers. Emma is stubborn, rude, and self-depreciating when it least suits her, but Regina still finds her a forceful energy that she can’t help but admire, to imagine what such traits could achieve with gentle direction into something positive. “Just get some clean clothes, and let’s have something to eat. We’re both tired—”

 

Emma shakes her head, dropping her suitcase back down into the boot. “You’re unbelievable,” Emma remarks, one hand on the open boot and the other on her hip, a disbelieving smile on her face. “I assaulted you and you’re just ignoring it? You also, several times in fact, changed your opinion on whether we should attend this wedding together. Then you tell me to ask you for whatever I want and promise to fulfil it— which I haven’t held you to by the way— but insist that you leave me up in the air until your mood allows it.” Gesturing wildly, Emma goes red in the face from calling Regina out on her antics, her voice low and even to prevent bystanders from overhearing, but Regina hears her words just as clearly as the thunder from before.

 

“What is it that you want from me, Regina?” Emma asks yet again, although this time she keeps her hands to herself, crossing them over her chest as she shivers from the cold.

 

Offering Emma a wet smile, Regina looks away to gather her thoughts before answering. “You were only supposed to be a last ditch effort to help me sleep through the night,” she says hollowly, wondering if their age difference is what makes their fight so gruesome, if Emma doesn’t understand her misgivings because she hasn’t experienced half the things that Regina has. “Two nights maybe, and then I would never have to see you again—only you showed concern and understood my half-phrases. So, I came back, because you made me feel like I was more than a wife, or this broken thing mourning a divorce. You saw me as a romantic that I had forgotten to be, a confidant, and _friend_ even.” She laughs at that, throwing her hands up in the air as she takes a step back. “I want too much from you, Emma, don’t you understand?”

 

They stand at an impasse, Emma staring her down as if she can see right through her. Regina doesn’t know what Emma searches for, but it makes her shift uncomfortably, knowing the questions she didn’t answer and the truths she hides.

 

The tolerance for double meanings has seemingly depleted, and Emma clenches her jaw when she says, “I don’t understand, actually,” leaving no room for Regina to wiggle free, not when they’re both washed down and hung out to dry.

 

Decompressing, everything slowing down and her care for what happens next escaping her, Regina chokes out a chuckle and shakes her head in amusement. She can’t believe her luck, how her previous actions have come to bite her in the arse, all this flip-flopping leaving Emma standing amidst a disaster she should have never come running back to when Regina called. She takes her time to formulate a response, to memorise the way Emma looks before she runs for the hills, with morality radiating from her and a stern position on matters that do not concern her.

 

“Do you have to understand _now_?” Regina asks, desperate and pleading. This isn’t the place she wants to confess her feelings, not in the middle of a rest stop with families eavesdropping, and their clothes stiff against their bodies from the rain.

 

Emma asks, “don’t I have a right to know where I stand?” and Regina closes her eyes in defeat.

 

This isn’t about what will happen _now_ , it’s about what will happen when Regina shatters this illusion Emma thinks her capable of conducting— and if she does pull it off?  What will happen when the weekend is over, and her heart still pounds Emma’s name? “You asked me for something this weekend, and I know I said I can’t pretend, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t give you what you want.” If she were in Emma’s shoes, all this would seem most uncomfortable, where the car she travels in isn’t her own, and the woman she accompanies seems to shift her moods like the tides. “And you know what,” Regina manages, voice a mere whisper, “you haven’t been a bed of roses either. Something is going on with you, Emma, and I don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of your moods.”

 

“Like I haven’t?” Emma snarls, something building between them that can’t be tamed. “I’ve seen the bitter divorcee, the overprotective wife, the angry, sad, horrible Regina, and yet you can’t handle me wanting a few answers?” The righteousness that clings to Emma seems to melt away then, eyes glistening with tears for something that Regina doesn’t understand.

 

Swallowing, Regina takes a calming breath, bracing herself on the open boot of her car that displays their luggage for all to see. They fight like wives, like Regina had been texting someone too often and refuses to tell Emma who, only it’s the florist to confirm the meanings of each flower that she’s been secretly trying to sneak into the house for a surprise. This isn’t as easy as she thought it would be, this relationship, however real or fake, resting on the edge of a knife that Regina holds the handle for.

 

“Please,” she begs, “let’s get warm and have something to eat. I _promise_ ,” Regina stresses the word, “I’ll give you all the answers you want.” It doesn’t seem to disarm Emma, but she nods in agreement regardless, taking out a set of clean clothes that she shoves into a smaller bag alongside Regina’s which is taken from her hands without question.

 

It’s still tense, but Emma slings the bag over her shoulder and closes the boot, following quietly behind Regina toward the bathrooms without complaint. “How do you take your coffee?” Regina hears, the question soft in a way that indicates a motion of peace.

 

Eagerly clinging onto the offer, Regina answers with a tentative, “the same way you do,” as she takes her clothes from Emma when they reach the bathroom, an apology on the tip of her tongue that she doesn’t voice out loud.

 

…

 

Wiped down and changed into comfortable clothes, Regina washes her face and pats down her skin with relief.  This is panning out to be the worst trip she’s ever taken, but if they don’t bring up everything now, where the only people in the line of fire are themselves… Regina loathes to think about what would have happened had they left it for the wedding.

 

Carrying her damp clothes back out, Regina spots Emma sitting at a booth, two cups of steaming coffee in front of her as she stares down at the menu. “May I?” Regina asks when she approaches her, gesturing at the seat beside her.

 

Emma looks at her with an unreadable expression, and scoots over to give her room, the damp clothes set on the empty chair beside them that she’ll deal with in a few moments. Palming her coffee mug, Regina allows the warmth to seep into her bones. “Emma,” she starts, looking over to catch the woman in question neatly folding her clothes to place them back into the bag, care radiating from her even when she’s supposedly questioning this entire trip in the same way that Regina does.

 

“I shouldn’t have asked you for this,” Emma confesses, “you’re recovering from a long-term relationship and insomnia. You don’t need this added stress.” Holding her gaze, Emma reaches out to squeeze her hand, Regina frowning at this sudden change of heart that’s a long time coming if she’s being honest with herself. “I’m sorry.”

 

Shaking her head, the romance of this all but gone, Regina takes a sip of her coffee to wet her tongue, fingers squeezing Emma’s hand just a little tighter. “I had high hopes for this trip. I thought I would finally be able to do the silly things that I’ve always wanted to do with someone who appreciates it… but I was wrong.” Regina twists her coffee cup in its saucer, shoulders tense as she stares down at the murky liquid instead of meeting Emma’s eyes. She can’t possibly be so undeserving of love that she’s managed to secure Regina’s shifting emotions as the only concession prize, not when Emma is young and radiant with so much to give.

 

“I can’t pretend to be what you want,” Regina husks, finally managing to pick her head up, catching Emma’s stormy gaze as their hands remain encased in a gentle hold. “I _am_ what you want,” she chokes out, “I have very _real_ feelings for you, Emma.”

 

Emma’s hand slips out from her hold, the silence stretching between them heavy and filled with things that Regina doesn’t understand. They both sip at their coffees, warmth returning to Regina, but the cold she feels from Emma seeps into the depths of her soul. Had she been too hasty? Had she read everything wrong and destroyed whatever friendship they might’ve had?

 

Worrying her lower lip, Regina chances a glance at Emma, but startles when she sees disbelieving eyes on her. “Why?” Emma asks eventually, and the fact that she needs to know breaks Regina’s heart in two.

 

“ _Why_?” Regina echoes, “why not? Were you not there when you insisted that you sleep on the couch so I wouldn’t be alone? When you held my hand and told me I deserved better whilst you ate a happy meal for crying out loud? Did you not ask me if I had my outfits planned when I insisted on seeing to you first, endure Zelena’s taunts because you knew accompanying me to this wedding would have me attend with dignity?” She’s raving at this point, chest cracking wide open where quiet non-verbal conversations haven’t quite made the cut.

 

“I have always looked for three things in a person. Posture and confidence in the way they carry themselves, a comfortable silence that doesn’t need to be filled, and unconditional kindness toward me which I have never experienced with anyone else.” Reaching for Emma’s arm, Regina leans against her, watching the way the thorns in Emma’s demeanour melts into something beautiful. “You want to know why—and I want to know why not. It wasn’t hard to fall for you, Emma. It was so _easy_ …” trailing off, Regina swallows down the lump in her throat, shaking her head when she realises that she’s getting ahead of herself. “I’ve been changing my plans for this wedding because I didn’t want to take advantage of you, and then I didn’t want to be away from you, and—”

 

Cutting her off with a harsh breath, Emma turns back to her coffee and discreetly wipes beneath her eyes. Regina knew this would be too much, but how much longer could she keep her feelings to herself when it physically pains her to do so?

 

“We should get going,” Emma says, Regina’s heart shattering into a million pieces as she watches Emma grab their bag to head toward the car. Her coffee now lukewarm, Regina runs her hands down her face and pushes the cup away.

 

She should have just kept her mouth shut.

 

…

 

Three and a half hours. That’s how long they spend together in silence with only the soft tunes played by the radio. Regina can’t say she’s relieved by the lack of backlash she gets from Emma, but she isn’t entirely pleased at the lack of any reaction, really.

 

Wide awake with just the edge of crankiness creeping back into her bones, Regina breathes out a sigh when the GPS tells her to turn for the first time since they had joined the freeway. Pushing her glasses further up on her nose, Regina turns into an exit that takes her down into the darkness of the country with only sparse lights littering the view below, and the roads made of dry dirt and nothing more.

 

It’s funny how there seems to be no speck of rain here, only a light breeze moving the trees that stand witness to the awkward atmosphere in the car that moves past them. Up ahead, stationed in the middle of the countryside like aliens had place it there, sits a resort that stretches across the land in an attempt not to seem out of place. Emma’s, “woah,” from beside her echoes her very thoughts.

 

“What was she thinking,” Regina breathes, parking in the middle of the horseshoe driveway where a man comes out to greet them.

 

“Hello,” he says politely despite the very late hour and the state of the women who climb out of the car. “My name is Victor, and I will be assisting you with settling in. If you have any questions during your stay, I’m your guy.” Smiling too widely for Regina’s liking, she makes sure to step in between Emma and this leering man who quickly averts his eyes to the boot of the car. “Allow me to help you with your luggage.”

 

She makes him stand there for a full minute before clicking the button on her remote for her boot to open, the three suitcases heaved up onto a trolley that another attendant pushes in front of them. “Miss Vasquez has set all her guests up in cabins by the West side of the estate,” Victor continues, his footfalls echoing in the corridor as Regina tilts her head upwards to gape at the high ceilings that sport basket weaved lanterns which cast an orange glow on the porcelain tiles. The modern embellishments only last so long however, and Victor’s sturdy boots and loose fitted shirt make sense now.

 

Stepping onto a footpath, Victor shines a torch on the high grass and wild flowers that line the roads not taken. He adds extra light to whatever they may be blind to despite the path they walk on illuminated by the glow of what Regina assumes to be solar lamps stuck into the ground. “We have cabins that accommodate for parties of two and four, since you’re one of the first guests to arrive, you have a choice as to which you prefer.”

 

Stomping behind Victor, Regina stops when the cabins come into view, all of them lined up in the same standard design with only a few smaller than the others. It looks like something out of a wet dream she once had, imagining herself married to a ranch hand where they would breed horses for a living.

 

A gentle hand on her shoulder pushes her forward, Regina stumbling just a little before that hand grabs her by the arm to steady her. “Two sleeper,” Emma says from behind her, Victor automatically changing his course to steer them toward a smaller cabin nestled between the two larger ones. Regina supposes that she might want the privacy, but a four sleeper will allow them to get lost between two other people who can fill the silence that hangs above them both. Trembling with nerves, of everything that might crash and break around her, Regina smiles at Victor as he helps the other attendant set their suitcases in the cabin, handing Emma the keys as Regina disappears to explore the space that houses a kitchenette, a small lounge, and fireplace area.

 

There’s a bedroom down the hall with a large enough bathroom adjacent to it, and the light switches actually work when she tests them out. “There’s cell service in the main building,” she hears Victor say, “and here is the itinerary for the weekend. Breakfast, lunch, and supper are all served in the main building, unless you request ingredients to use the kitchenette to prepare your own meals.” He speaks to Emma like she’s the one in charge here, not Regina who peeks her head out of the hallway and creeps like a shadow along the wall, too afraid of Emma’s light, but unable to do more than follow her anyway.

 

“Thanks,” Emma says in parting, the keys clinking together when she places them in a bowl by the door after locking it.

 

They’re alone again, in a cabin of all places where sapphic dreams are born, but Regina has to be strong. Just because she’s been rejected, it doesn’t mean that this weekend has to entirely be a bust. “I’m going to shower,” she says quickly, darting around Emma to drag one of her suitcases toward her, rummaging around for a set of pyjamas and her cosmetics that spill out onto the floor.

 

“Regina,” Emma calls tiredly, and whatever shame Regina has left is discarded when she reaches for a set of underwear with Emma’s eyes on her, not caring that there’s a tinge of regret in Emma’s voice, or that she’s basically running from this so she can cry in the shower without being called out for it.

 

Gripping the few cosmetics she manages to snag, Regina makes it to the shower without Emma’s interference, and sighs out in relief when the water temperature goes from cold to scalding hot within moments. Taking advantage of the privacy the bathroom allows her, Regina washes her hair and skin, watching the trip and her humiliation circle the drain before it disappears down into the depths amongst the other things Regina is very good at not dealing with. When she’s properly satisfied and wiped down, Regina takes her time to apply lotion to her dry skin, smelling of coco butter and honey.

 

Standing in the doorway of the bedroom, towel wiping the ends of her hair, Regina nods toward the bathroom silently and watches as Emma makes her way over. The suitcases are closed and lined up against the bedroom wall, the cosmetics she had failed to take with her to the bathroom set on the dresser as if she herself had placed it there. Emma is perplexing—one moment caring and the next abrasive. It turns Regina’s head around when she tries to think about the reasons why, and although her blurted out confession of feelings may be a contributing factor, Regina doesn’t think much of it when she concentrates on plugging in the carry hairdryer she had thought to pack.

 

Sleepy eyed and warm, the hairdryer set aside, Regina burrows under the blankets and waits for Emma who emerges from the bathroom in a baby blue set of flannel pyjamas, her hair wrapped up in a towel. “Use the hairdryer,” she says, her voice sounding hoarse.

 

They should speak, to put this argument to rest and get back to the carefree way in which they interacted before, but Regina falls into the easy role of voyeur when she watches Emma thread her hair through her fingers and dry it straight. It doesn’t take long for the device to be switched off and unplugged, Emma rolling it back up to place next to the cosmetic bag.

 

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Emma says, reaching for the spare pillow. She’s putting herself in the doghouse, and Regina doesn’t even know why she still stays if she’s so uncomfortable.

 

Sitting up against the pillows, Regina pats the space next to her in invitation. “Sit,” she says, and Emma obeys almost instantly, the teacher voice out to play as Regina purses her lips in annoyance. “I will admit that initially, the idea for you to accompany me to this wedding were for reasons that were petty and childish. When you suggested getting even with Mal, I jumped up at the opportunity because that’s who I am. This year has been filled with misery for me, but meeting you, getting to know myself again through you… it’s been one of my saving graces since the divorce.” She doesn’t want to touch Emma to spook her, but she can’t help herself when she reaches out to brush her fingertips along Emma’s wrist.

 

“I can’t begin to imagine what you must be going through right now, but I don’t expect you to like me back just because…” swallowing, ashamed once again that she had been the cause of all of this, Regina looks down at her hands and smoothes the duvet over her abdomen. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Emma. That was never my intention to do so. If you would feel better going home and never seeing me again, then I can arrange that for you if you want.” As the older of the two, the one who should be responsible for coiling up the hairdryer and packing it away, or holding onto the keys of the cabin, Regina makes the choice to let Emma go. Zelena had always called her out on how she held things too tightly, and maybe now she would be proud of how she handles this one-sided relationship.

 

The bedspread bunches where Emma clenches the fabric in her fist, Regina’s fingers still resting atop her wrist. “I can’t promise you anything,” Emma says at last, pillow clutched to her chest as if she’s still considering the idea of sleeping on the couch. “I’m almost a decade younger than you, Regina. You have a career, a family, an ex-wife. I have a job I’m trying to get out of, one year of university credits, and commitment issues that you don’t need. You want someone who is confident and can woo you without thinking twice about it—I over think everything, every price tag, every piece of clothing, every word I say.” Shoving the pillow aside, Emma turns toward Regina with sincerity in her eyes, both hands reaching out for Regina who thoughtlessly slides her fingers into Emma’s palm.

 

“I can’t give you anything, but I can give you this weekend—I can promise that I will go along with whatever you want to do, that I will indulge just this once in things that I’ve always wanted to experience. The only thing I have to offer is time, and I don’t—I can’t spare more than this. You’re not the only one with feelings, Regina, but I’m not settled enough to see this through.”

 

It should be a talent as to how Regina manages to focus on only one thing, because her heart soars and butterflies erupt in her stomach. “You have feelings for me?” she asks, sitting up on her knees with her fingers still intertwined with Emma’s.

 

“ _That’s_ what you got from this?” Emma asks incredulously, looking lighter than before, freed from the burden of her own secrets.

 

Leaning into Emma, too close and not entirely close at all, Regina sits back down, one hand bracing herself on Emma’s thigh. “Sleep here,” she insists, unable to form a coherent thought when too many things race around in her head.

 

Emma looks hesitant, their conversation unfinished as Regina steers it to something that was once comfortable for them both. “If all you have to give me is this weekend,” she breathes, pulling back to give Emma a bit of space, “then I want— please, sleep next to me.” She’s an idiot for accepting this offer, and Emma is a bigger idiot for shimming under the covers with her muscles tense and this agreement made new again. Settling back down in bed with slow precise movements, Regina pulls the covers up to her neck and plunges them into darkness when she switches off the bedside lamp, fidgeting with too much nervous energy.

 

They lie side by side, stiff and too far from each other in an exact mirror of the first time Emma had slid into bed with her, only Regina is the one who turns toward Emma now with too many questions on her tongue. “You said you believe in fate,” she finds herself whispering after too long, the words escaping her without permission.

 

Emma answers with a soft, “I do,” mirroring Regina’s position as they stare at each other in the dark.

 

Taking in a breath, Regina smiles timidly at Emma, thankful that at least they have some things out in the open, even if they both refuse to acknowledge how much this could possibly hurt when the weekend is done, and _maybe_ , Regina thinks the words out loud, “why don’t we let fate decide what happens after this weekend—”

 

Interrupting with a sigh, Emma breathes out a pained, “Regina.” If she didn’t know herself, Regina might’ve thought her the child here, the dark playing games with them both as they continue to sleep in the same bed, wanting the same things, but most certainly not in the same point of their lives.

 

Adamant, because she’s caught onto something and won’t let go, Regina breaks the awkwardness between them by inching closer to Emma in the bed. Daring to do more, to thread her fingers through silky tresses and trace the action with her eyes, Regina utters out a, “ _please_ ,” and something seems to melt within Emma under her touch. “If this weekend doesn’t go the way we want it to, we can part ways and I won’t stop you from walking away. But if this feels good… if it makes us better people, I _will_ fight for you, Emma.”

 

Three fingers press against her mouth to stop her from continuing, Emma swallowing thickly as her eyes close against the dark. “Sleep,” she urges, her hand running down over Regina’s neck and along her shoulders to rest against her bicep, her touch warm and comforting. “You’ll need your rest,” she rasps, a pleased smile pulling up onto her lips, “if you plan on fighting anyone anytime soon.”

 

The mischievous quirk of Emma’s lips is enough for Regina to release a wet laugh, that statement more than enough for her to know that there is a _sliver_ of a chance of this progressing. Never mind that she’ll see Mal tomorrow with the other guests, or that Mother is on the warpath— Emma has _feelings_ for her, and for the first time she feels like maybe she doesn’t have to put away her silly ideas and tamp down on her desires for another person. Emma still wants her, no matter the limited time frame she’s willing to spend on this relationship, but she wants this despite Regina’s moody nature and lacklustre arguments that are based on her crabbiness more than anything else.

 

Shifting forward, brave enough to ask for what she needs, Regina’s quiet, “will you hold me?” meets the end of a startled look Emma sends her way. There’s a clear hesitation in the way Emma moves her arm to curl around Regina’s back, giving her time to pull away if she wishes, but Regina only burrows in closer, her face tucked into the curve of a slender neck and her arm slung around Emma’s waist. Warm and hidden from the night in Emma’s embrace, Regina finally relaxes.

 

“I can’t believe you have feelings for me,” she whispers cheekily against Emma’s skin, the rumble of an answering groan the sound she finally falls asleep to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised the angst will thin in the last chapter, but I really meant the one after _this_. I'm sorry!


	7. Insecurities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back! Thank you for your patience regarding my week break from updating. I'm now back on a regular posting schedule of every Thursday until completion.

Birds chirp in the distance, blissfully tweeting about without any care for the predicament that Regina finds herself in. It’s too early in the morning to be palming a cup of coffee and admiring the dark outline of the trees outside, but the heavy feel of Emma’s arm around her waist during the night had been too much. It wasn’t unpleasant, the feel of a warm body wrapped around her— in fact, it was comforting and overwhelming in all the ways that made her ache for what she had lost, and what she might lose.

 

Today, her lack of sleep hinges on the things that Emma had kept her so wonderfully distracted from; Mal and her new girlfriend, Marian and her wedding, the unnecessary events that are to come, and the wrath that Cora Mills might bring. So many things cloud the path ahead, cluttering and obscuring without thought for what they might be affecting, all of them clamouring for Regina’s attention as she sips her coffee whilst leaning on the porch railing in her pyjamas, looking out as the sun breaks through the darkness.

 

Swallowing down the mouthful of her morning beverage, Regina doesn’t need to turn around to know that Emma stands behind her. The sound of the water going off in the bathroom a few minutes ago had been a dead giveaway of the wakefulness of her companion. “Coffee?” she asks softly, gaze still watching the sun as she tries to maintain a nonchalant air.

 

“Should you be having coffee with so little sleep?” The question is reasonable, and the meagre three hours of shut eye she had gotten nestled in Emma’s arms isn’t enough, but the day ahead and the insecurities that might come with putting herself out there seems to win over her need to rest.

 

Thumbing the rim of her mug, Regina turns toward Emma with her back to the sun, her careful gaze taking in Emma’s rumpled pyjamas and knotted curls. “Probably not,” Regina answers, leaning back against the railing with a fond smile on her face. There are feelings between them now, _confirmed_ feelings that make Regina’s palms tingle and stomach clench; but there is also a sense of awkwardness around them, the same nervous energy that comes with first dates and meeting friends at a reunion after too long. Regina wants to skip that, to shower Emma with love that Mal had stopped appreciating after a few years; although the constant fear of suffocating Emma makes her pause.

 

They stand in companionable silence for a while, Emma reaching out to grab the railing as she stares out at the sight Regina has only just been looking at. She seems to be thinking about something, eyebrows pulled into a frown that Regina watches with unabashed longing. “Are you ready for…?” vaguely gesturing around them, Emma turns to Regina with concern, knowing too well what might’ve woken her up sooner than expected.

 

Her fingers twitch against the ceramic of the mug, the warmth from her coffee fading as the security from the night does. “Marian will make me say something… a toast, maybe. I’ve had something written down just in case—besides that, well…” she breathes out purposefully, leaving the sentence hanging between them as she brings the mug up to her lips once more.

 

Last night had been about them, _their_ feelings, _their_ doubts and fears, _their_ pretend or _not-so_ -pretend relationship, and it was riddled with arguments that Regina is glad is over, but today can’t be about them, not when this is about something so much bigger. Closing her eyes to centre herself, Regina turns her face up toward the sky and wishes with all her might that today goes as smoothly as possible. She doesn’t want to confront Mal, she doesn’t want to be the bitter ex-wife who can’t move on, and if Regina doesn’t get her emotions in check, she just might ruin all the progress she’s managed to make in the past few weeks.

 

“You’re going to be fine,” Emma whispers from beside her, shoulder bumping into Regina’s with the support of a friend, one who doesn’t mention their sleeping arrangements from last night and what that could possibly mean for them.

 

Her mug is pulled from her hands with a knowing look from Emma, the warmth leaving her hands as it’s transferred with the silent insinuation of _you’ve had enough_. She wants to grab the mug back, to snap and sneer at Emma who only has her best interests at heart— and there’s that selfishness that Regina’s so known for coming up for air again, putting her own feelings ahead of Emma who places her neck in the lion’s mouth for no good reason at all. If Regina is going to walk into a room of people she knows, then Emma will be walking into the same room as a stranger who doesn’t deserve to be judged.

 

“I saw the itinerary,” she starts, swallowing down her selfishness as she watches Emma finish off the half cup of coffee without complaint for the temperature, “the programme only starts at noon. We have from now until then to do whatever we want.”

 

So what if Regina stalls the time she gives herself to panic about the wedding festivities until then? She had five minutes of bliss with Emma before sleep claimed her, and she’ll be damned if she loses any more of that over fretting about something that will happen anyways. What Regina wants to do is to test these new waters, find out how deep they really go before she’s making plans to seduce Emma in the middle of nowhere like a love crazed idiot.

 

“What do you have in mind?” Emma asks, suppressing a yawn.

 

…

 

“Woman!”

 

Regina can only laugh as she continues walking, backpack hugging her front as she replaces her bottle of water. “Keep up, Emma!” she calls over her shoulder, adjusting her cap to shield her eyes from the sun.

 

It had taken them less than an hour to get ready, Regina going down to the main hall to collect a breakfast for them both and standard issue backpacks, whilst Emma tidied up the cabin and strapped an atrociously large camera over her neck. Since then, all Regina has seen of Emma has been the back of her head as she snaps pictures of practically everything within her sight.

 

“You didn’t,” Emma huffs from behind her, grabbing onto a tree to steady herself, “mention you were this fi—” She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, her eyes wide and a gasp sounding around them as Emma loses her footing. Regina scrambles for her, barely grabbing Emma by the arm to steady her before she can slide down the embankment and get seriously injured.

 

Stunned and a little scared, Regina pulls Emma upright with an exhale. “Pay attention,” she snaps, keeping her hand on Emma’s arm where the muscles she had admired on more than one occasion flexes under her hold.

 

“You don’t have to get angry,” Emma mumbles under her breath, adjusting her camera strap as she strides past Regina, her own backpack bouncing with her as she walks.

 

A frown adorns her face, the indent of a scowl clearly visible as she looks up at Emma who stands at the top of the embankment. “What did you say?” she inquires, challenging Emma to speak up to her, looking for a fight that she doesn’t necessarily want.

 

Emma sighs, hiking her backpack over her shoulder with exasperation. “I said,” she iterates, “you don’t have to get angry. You do that a lot when you’re scared.” The petulance from a few seconds ago is gone, replaced now with an odd sort of affection that Regina can only hope won’t make her heart burst out of her chest. They’ve barely been walking for twenty minutes, going neither here nor there as her joking suggestion of going on a hike had been taken seriously. Mal had never liked the outdoors as much, nor Regina’s rough ways of showing affection, but Emma is another matter entirely, someone who genuinely _cares_. If Regina braces herself on the same tree that had failed Emma because of that realisation, then so be it.

 

“I’m not scared,” she says, grasping Emma’s hand to help pull herself up, the bark of the tree scraping against her palm. Her denial is flimsy, but it holds, and Emma only offers her a disbelieving look before they walk side by side again.

 

The birds are louder here, hopping from branch to branch of trees that provide a canopy of shade from the sun. The hiking path that Regina had thought would be like the clear footpath to their cabins isn’t what had awaited them when they started their journey, and instead, Regina takes solace in this immersion of nature that makes them find their own way with only a few markings to guide them. Grass still wet from the morning dew and sunlight streaming through the gaps in the trees, Regina can almost forget that she’s a divorced professor living in the suburbs with a life that demands more than enough from her.

 

They haven’t reached their destination yet, only slowly walking through the hiking path at a pace that Regina has unknowingly set, giving them both time to admire their surroundings. Emma’s hand brushes against hers, and perhaps it’s the peaceful ambiance or the fact that they’ve done this before, but Regina allows her fingers to intertwine with Emma’s, having them walk hand in hand without any care for the state of their relationship. “Just in case you fall again,” she finds herself saying, but there isn’t a peep of protest from Emma who only leans in closer to her.

 

No more pictures are taken, no more snappish remarks are made, and whatever flip-flopping position Regina seems to have taken on their agreement falls away. “Did you do this often?” she hears, the question a little unsure.

 

“Do what?” Regina asks, pushing aside a stray branch for them to walk safely past.

 

Shrugging, the action too casual to be discarded, Emma bites down on her lower lip. “I mean…all this,” she says, tugging Regina along, “with Mal?”

 

The question causes her to freeze, Emma jerking back by their joined hands when she takes a step too far. “No,” Regina answers easily, although the sharp tone of her voice is evident. She continues walking, her breaths becoming shorter and legs burning with the exertion as they climb up another hill. “Mal liked things clean, indoors, and classy. This would have been considered frivolous.” Regina can’t paint Mal as a villain, not when they clearly had different expectations when it came to love, and their attraction had been genuine at least. Over time, perhaps they had tired of trying to fit into each other’s ideals— only an affair was uncalled for, and however long it had been ongoing was something Regina didn’t care to find out.

 

Tugged back, her shoes slipping on the wet grass, Regina falls into Emma who catches her by the waist. This isn’t the intense physical closeness that Regina is accustomed to with Emma, not when there is a seriousness to Emma’s expression, and concern in the way she cradles Regina’s back. “You aren’t just doing this to prove her wrong, are you?”

 

 _Is she?_ Mal had been her past, and soon Emma will too, but does that mean that whatever she does now will be to prove something to her ex? Surely her attraction for Emma is based on more than that?

 

“Emma,” she breathes, settling her hands over Emma’s neck, fingers threading through frizzy curls hastily pulled into a ponytail at the back of Emma’s head. “I’m still a little afraid of being suffocating—and that isn’t your fault, but that just means that I’m going to do things slowly for the both of us. I’m doing this because this is who I am, not because I have a point to prove.” Running her hands down Emma’s shoulders, Regina exhales with a smile. Shamelessly, as if she doesn’t have any sense of herself, Regina runs her hands over Emma’s arms again, entirely focused on the way her muscles seem to tighten as she does so.

 

There’s a delicate kiss pressed to her cheek, the skin there burning with a blush that Regina tries to hide. “Good,” Emma says cheekily, and Regina suspects that she might be flexing her muscles on purpose now. “Shall we continue?”

 

The request is lost on Regina who finds herself unwilling to let go of Emma just yet, a familiar feeling of longing crawling up her spine until she can’t help herself anymore. “Your arms are… _fit_ ,” she breathes out in a rush, squeezing Emma’s bicep once more for good measure before letting go. She feels somewhat herself again, to the Regina who had seen Daniele in High School and wrote her love poems, hearts drawn along the margin in a promise that hadn’t been returned. It had taken her the better part of three years to get over Daniele, the girl who was obviously straight and had mistaken her love for friendship. Rejection perhaps, was a better devil than betrayal from Mal.

 

Blushing prettily, Emma releases Regina and walks ahead, only turning back to look at her with the mischief of a lover in her eyes. “I’ll race you,” she challenges, and all Regina can do is laugh as she dashes up the hill after Emma, the thick greenery giving way to rocky terrain that sits at the foot of a small waterfall.

 

It’s breath-taking; the smooth slates of rock that sit like layers atop each other, the waterfall that looks like it would be heaven to step under, the clear pool that splashes with the image of a woman—

 

“Emma!” _Oh no_. She’d been so busy admiring the view that Regina hadn’t noticed her idiot doing something idiotic. “Emma don’t you dare drown! If I have to do CPR I’m going to eat an onion before I give you mouth to mouth, I swear!” Dropping her bag down next to Emma’s, she makes her way as quickly and carefully as she can toward the pool, scanning the area as she does so in case that wasn’t Emma, but some waterfall mermaid that looks strikingly like her.

 

There’s nothing that shifts when Regina gets on her hands and knees, peering into the pool that doesn’t look as deep as she imagined. “Emma?” she calls again, quietly this time, and not because Emma might’ve drowned, but because Emma pops up from the water on the other side of the pool, blonde hair slicked back against her scalp and her skin glowing where the sun manages to catch the droplets of water that slide down tanned shoulders.

 

Maybe she stares too hard, maybe she watches too intently, but Emma glides toward her with ease, a smirk fixed firmly on her lips. “I told you,” she says softly, hands crossing on the rock in front of Regina’s hands, “you get angry when you get scared.”

 

Regina is more than scared now, petrified at how quickly they’ve moved from their arguments and insecurities to something so daring. “Is that all you know about me? Angry Regina and scared Regina?” She’s pushing this, falling so easily into the romantic that Mal hadn’t allowed her to be, her shoes slowly coming off and set aside as she dips her feet into the water on either side of Emma.

 

Surprisingly, she isn’t offended at Emma’s chuckle or the roll of her eyes that reminds her so much of the Emma she first met, the one with a righteous streak and too much attitude. “I can’t answer that,” she says, gripping Regina’s calves under the water as she lowers herself back down, fingers skimming across tense muscles, and Regina nearly moans out loud when Emma begins to squeeze in rhythmic patterns.

 

“And why not?” Regina grits out, trying too hard to keep her voice level, the impromptu massage nearly sending her over the edge of oblivion.

 

“Because,” Emma breathes, suddenly too close, her hands too high up Regina’s legs as she lifts herself partially out of the water. There’s nothing on her besides a sports bra and matching set of boy-shorts, so much skin on display, so much muscle that gleams as water runs through the indents of them. “If I start talking about caring Regina, and stubborn Regina, and—” Shivering at the feel of Emma pressing against her, her t-shirt soaking the water from Emma’s skin, goosebumps rise across her arms as Emma whispers obscenely in her ear. “And,” Emma continues, “absolutely _sexy_ , bossy Regina…” She pulls back, Regina swaying toward her in equal parts disbelief and arousal. “You might be jealous,” Emma finishes raising both her eyebrows like she’s won a prize.

 

In all of this, through countless times sticking by her despite her moodiness, being patient through changing plans, and even a confession of feelings, Regina had never thought herself _desirable_ to Emma. She has bags under her eyes, can feel her sinuses clogging up, and then there’s this emotional baggage that can’t possibly be screaming out _sexy_ of all things.

 

Unable to say anything, to think beyond the feel of Emma’s body pressing against hers, Regina takes a deep breath and stands up. Her cap and ponytail come out first, then the soaked t-shirt that she throws behind her along with her shorts that she kicks aside without any care for where they land. She should feel embarrassed, but Emma’s wide eyes on her has her feeling emboldened, someone erotic in her own right. “You haven’t seen all of me,” she purrs, and where she expected Emma’s eyes to drop to her covered skin, Emma simply stares at her in awe instead, the water rippling from her chest where she breathes too deeply.

 

“No,” Emma answers in a whisper, and it’s all Regina needs to leap into the water, feeling her muscles tense at the coolness and then relax when the sun warms her as she emerges. _Free_ , gloriously free, Regina leans back, face toward the sun as she laughs wholeheartedly. She hasn’t had a chance to do this, to be away from the home she had seen her marriage crumble in, to shed her responsibilities and _breathe_.

 

Emma yells out, “a perfect ten!” splashing about in the water as Regina wonders whether the score was for her dive or her looks. She doesn’t have to wonder long however, Emma coming up behind her to splash her with water like a _child_.

 

Spluttering, Regina scoffs out in disbelief, her hands moving on instinct as she splashes Emma back with no real motive. She’s sure there’s more water on the rocks than in the pool, but Regina can’t stop laughing, not even if she swallows mouthfuls of water and reaches out to tickle Emma when she finds herself losing the splash war too badly.

 

Emma’s yelp is worth it, her giggles like wind chimes that eases away the tension in Regina’s shoulders. There isn’t a wedding here with guests who should not matter so much, there isn’t an ex-wife or high expectations from long gone family members, and Regina relishes this time spent in an intimate bubble of bliss— even if Emma starts to tortuously tickle back.

 

“Mercy!” Regina cries out eventually, groaning when she stretches her hands across the water. “If you continue to try and drown me, then how will we have our picnic?” Other than this unplanned swimming expedition, this picnic is probably the first romantic thing that Regina has allowed herself to indulge in, and other than the need to eat, it was supposed to be subtle enough to pass as something between friends if last night had been something to ignore—but Regina can see that they are well beyond that now.

 

Lifted by the small of her back, Regina floats on the water with Emma supporting her. “I didn’t know about a picnic,” Emma says thoughtfully, “but I _was_ doing it for the mouth-to-mouth.”

 

Slapping Emma’s arm, Regina clutches her stomach as she laughs, completely content to let herself go with the thought that Emma has her back. “Naughty,” she whispers, the word sounding far more risqué than she had intended, her fingers sliding across Emma’s cheek to wipe away droplets of water that cling to her skin. The air between them thickens, filled with something they only grazed before as Regina lowers herself to stand in front of Emma.

 

A brilliant flush spreads across Emma’s neck, climbing up to her cheeks as Regina focuses her attention on pink, slightly abused lips. Emma chews on it far too much, and although she looks adorable doing it, Regina can’t help but think of the why—hopefully Emma does it less as the weekend wears on.

 

Inhaling, her chest expanding with the effort, Regina pulls Emma closer to her with every intention of performing a very poor imitation of mouth-to-mouth. The moment Emma’s eyes widen, Regina knows that she’s caught on, and the squealing that comes afterward as Emma makes a break for the rocks is what causes Regina to burst out into laughter once more, the sound echoing around them.

 

…

 

By the time Regina makes her way over, they haven’t much time for a picnic, not when sleep calls once again and Regina grumbles as she’s force fed a fruit salad by a much more energetic Emma.

 

“Can’t I just nap here?” she asks, a definite pout on her face as she leans back against a rock. Emma’s displeased expression is more than enough to know that she won’t be sleeping anywhere near here, not with—according to Emma—wet clothes, no sunblock, and a perfectly good bed back at the cabin. Regina almost blurts out that Emma would make a good mother before she thinks better of it. She knows how touchy the topic of children can be, and Regina isn’t willing to bet this weekend on a comment that could be taken in the wrong way.

 

Picking up her bag, Regina stumbles behind Emma who silently takes her hand, guiding her through the hiking trail that seems longer than before. “Playful Regina,” Emma says, tugging on their joined hands to get her attention. “I like her.”

 

Small talk had never been one of Regina’s strong suits, but Emma always manages to engage her in whatever half-baked topic she brings up. “Almost naked Emma,” she mumbles, barely able to keep her eyes open, even if her mouth flaps without concern for her dignity, “I liked her very much. All the muscles.”

 

Emma snorts, helping her climb over a fallen log before they walk in step again. “And when I’m old and have no muscles anymore?”

 

Frowning as she thinks, Regina wonders why Emma keeps asking her these questions, why her responses might be important when the only thing that she cares about is leaning on a warm shoulder that promises a comfortable place to sleep. “All the more reason to appreciate them _now_ ,” she answers, hugging Emma’s arm to her chest like some juvenile fangirl. She can’t help it, not when being tired now is due to her own activities rather than endless worries that she might not be good enough, and the lightness she feels translates into her interactions with Emma who laughs in response.

 

Holding her around the waist as they walk on even ground, Emma guides her toward stairs that she climbs one by one, through a door that swings open, and then toward a soft surface that Regina allows herself to fall onto with a groan. “Is this the romantic you’ve been telling me about?” Emma asks with a laugh, removing Regina’s shoes and socks, sounding both amused and flustered as she works.

 

Shifting to get more comfortable, Regina runs her fingers through her hair, but gives up the action halfway. Her muscles ache and burn, feeling alive for the first time in a very long time, and the thought is something that makes her smile up tiredly at Emma who had unknowingly provided her with the opportunity to feel like this. “Wait until I name stars after you and have a choir sing you happy birthday,” Regina teases, following Emma’s movements with her eyes as she bustles about. “You’ll get tired of me,” comes out in a whisper, a sliver of doubt that manages to make itself known.

 

A sigh greets her when Emma sits down beside her on the floor, Regina turning her head to keep their gazes locked. “I won’t,” she promises, rubbing Regina’s arm that warms at the touch, “in fact, I think it just means that I have to up my romance game a little.”

 

“You’ve been romantic this whole time?” Regina asks incredulously, exaggerating her disbelief as she turns onto her side, the couch cushions most likely wet from her clothes. There isn’t any doubt that Emma has been trying to play her part, but their ideals of love seem to be slightly different, what with Emma doing a lot of little things and Regina’s romantic notions leaning more toward grandeur. “I love that you take care of me, but please,” she breathes, lifting Emma’s chin toward her, “I don’t want a fifties housewife.”

 

The gleam in Emma’s eyes should not be so attractive, but Regina yelps when she’s tickled under her feet. “If I don’t take care of you,” Emma huffs, reaching out for Regina who scrambles up from the couch, laughing as she dodges Emma’s hands, “then who will?” Unknowingly perhaps, Emma looks too far ahead in the future, where they might still be in each other’s lives and their roles will remain solid in this relationship.

 

“Still,” Regina breathes out, holding her hand up to prevent Emma from chasing her, “there’s more to you than just being there to take care of me.” She herself had fallen into the trap of being valued according to her usefulness, and that’s the last thing she wants to happen to Emma, not if she wants them to last for longer than this weekend where their entire relationship will hinge on the way they act around each other now.

 

A towel handed to her, Regina takes the offered item with care. “Go shower,” Emma says softly, her shoulders relaxing and a pleased smile pulling up onto her lips. Regina might’ve said the right thing, but she still inches toward the bathroom with caution in case Emma surprises her with a sneak attack. As painful as their discussions had been before, Regina finds now that this playfulness is something that she doesn’t mind, not when their friendship seems to bloom beneath the surface, and their flirting becomes bolder as they begin to care for each other more.

 

When she steps under the shower this time, Regina knows that whatever awkwardness she had thought to exist between Emma and her has now eased away.

 

:::

 

The affair is a small, intimate one. Only a select few people are invited to all three days, and Regina is glad that she had been egoistic enough to check the plus one box when she RSVPed months ago. She had no intention of bringing anyone really, but then Emma happened and things may have gotten a little out of hand.

 

Emma says, “two months,” in a faraway voice, answering to a conversation that Regina doesn’t partake in. A shiver crawls its way up her spine as she delicately takes another glass of wine from the nearby waiter, eagerly grasping the numbing medicine that tunes out Emma’s worrying looks. Marian hasn’t arrived at her luncheon yet, fashionably late even as the guests silently complain about hunger as the clock crawls toward one o’clock, and yet Regina feels nothing besides both panicked and numb as she sips her wine without protest, the alcohol filtering through her system with ease. She’s been drinking from the moment they entered the greenhouse on the east side of the estate, leaving Emma to do all the talking as she retreated into herself where the bubble of panic only intensifies.

 

“…with someone so young?” she hears, and _that_ surprisingly is what manages to clap into her bubble, Regina focusing once again on Abigail and her husband who sit too close to each other, his arm casually thrown across the back of her chair. It’s the sort of non-verbal thing that shows how in love they are, how comfortable they must be despite sitting at the same table with Regina and a practical stranger.

 

Clearing her throat, Regina looks to Emma whose smile has frozen on her face, obviously insulted by the not-so-subtle jab that Abigail throws their way. “Age means nothing,” Regina snaps, reaching out to grab Emma’s hand for good measure, “it’s about being compatible, about finding someone who helps you grow. Honestly, Abigail, I’d think you would have better sense than to be so shallow.”

 

She’s lucky that the alcohol has helped numb her senses, because Emma squeezes her hand too tightly, trying and failing to stop what she’s already started. Abigail’s face turns red from embarrassment, her husband shifting from the casual position he sits in to something a little more aggressive, and Regina is ready to go, to throw verbal punches that might leave a lasting impression. Although, Emma’s, “sorry, I think she’s had too much to drink,” slaps her back into place.

 

Dragged up from her seat with a strong grip, Regina stumbles as she tries to keep a hold of both her drink and her dignity as she’s led outside the classy greenhouse, glass panels only barely keeping them obscured from those who nosily peers at them from afar. “How dare she!” Regina spits, knocking back the rest of her wine to hastily set her glass aside, fully charged into attack mode. “This is the problem with people, all of them with their—”

 

“She was complimenting you!” Emma hisses, grabbing her by the arms to steer her toward a large tree, back pressing against the bark with only a wince of complaint. “She asked how I manage to keep up with someone so young, not because of age, but because of the way you look, you idiot.”

 

“But—but, you looked insulted! You were doing that twisty thing with your face!”

 

Teeth bared, Emma hisses out, “because it was intended as a sexual question. How else do you want me to react?”

 

Still pressed against the tree, Regina clenches her eyes shut in embarrassment and hides her face in her hands. Only half the sentence had been registered, and there she went on a tangent based on things Emma had said the night before. Half of those things might have been true, but surely the fact that Regina had managed to sleep through the morning after their hike is evidence enough as to how safe Emma makes her feel. Shouldn’t comfort, and safety, and happiness count for something? “I wasn’t listening properly, I’m sorry, Emma.”

 

Emma scoffs, sounding far more hurt than what should be reasonable over this matter. They’ve had a good morning, a _great_ one actually, and the moment Regina’s panic about everything starts to set in, is that the time that Emma taps out? “Yeah sure,” she says coldly, stepping back to leave Regina unsupported against the tree.

 

An argument, that’s what they’re having, and Regina is sick of it. Inside the greenhouse between fifty odd people sits Mal and her girlfriend, of which Regina has been lucky enough not to see since she walked in here almost an hour ago. In hindsight, Abigail might’ve been doing more than chewing away at their ears. “ _Please_ ,” she stresses the word, hands slapping down onto her thighs where they fall, “just tell me what’s got you so bothered instead of going in circles.”

 

Shaking her head in disbelief, princess curls bouncing around her shoulders, Emma stands too tall, that righteousness clinging to her even now. “Is this how you fight for me?” she asks, a tinge of disappointment lingering in her speech, “by being an aloof drunk?”

 

A laugh, unbidden, escapes from her. There’s nothing funny about this, not when she’s left Emma to the wolves whilst she’s found a way to hide. Reaching out for Emma to pull her closer, to keep her there as she tries to remind herself that she had _wanted_ this, Regina realises that people’s opinions still matter too much to her. “I don’t want to be able to hear people judge us— _me_ ,” she admits, holding her uncertainty in her chest as she tries to breathe around it.

 

“You’re _insecure_?” Emma asks incredulously, “that’s why you’ve been trying to become invisible this whole time?” Mocked, Regina pouts at the tone Emma uses, the alcohol still singing through her veins even as things begin to shift in her mind. Hadn’t Emma said something about a father with an addiction? Does Emma even drink alcohol—didn’t she refuse that time Regina had offered her some?

 

Grasping Emma’s arm to prevent her from leaving, Regina holds them both under the shade of the tree, struggling to find the appropriate words to say. She manages to stutter out an, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… there’s a lot of emotions, and I don’t exactly know what to do with them. I keep thinking about last night, the things you said—”

 

Emma sighs out, “ _Regina_ ,” like her name is a prayer that has gone unanswered for too long, but Regina isn’t done yet.

 

“The things you said last night,” she says again, “I was tired and angry, and maybe I didn’t acknowledge certain things, but Emma… I see you as my _equal_.” Sliding her hand up to cup Emma’s cheek, Regina exhales as the miscommunication they might’ve had in the long run seems to unravel before them now. “I know—I know I’m older than you, and that I have certain things in my life that are different from yours because of that, but you are the most mature person I’ve met. We might be at different points in our lives, but it doesn’t affect how I feel about you, and it definitely doesn’t stop you from calling me out on my bullshit. There are more important things, and I don’t want you to feel like anything less than absolutely _everything_ to me.”

 

Underneath it all, beyond her worries and the clock that keeps ticking in the background, there’s an admission for something that goes far deeper than mere feelings, something that makes her focus on the present with an intent that diverges from wallowing in self-pity. “I’ve been a horrible date, but I’ll make it right, I promise,” Regina vows, tucking a curl behind Emma’s ear with the utmost care.

 

It comes out of nowhere, taking her by surprise as she’s pressed further into the tree, Emma’s arms wrapping around her waist as she’s kissed with a fierceness that she doesn’t have the time to return, not with eyes wide open and her mouth claimed with soft lips that are gone before she takes a breath. “Mouth-to-mouth,” Emma says seriously, blinking away the suspicious shine to her eyes, “you looked like you needed it.”

 

Still wide eyed, her heart pounding away in her ears and her legs a shaky mess, Regina opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. They had been dancing around a kiss for so long, that this one feels both earth-shattering and anticlimactic.  “You’re not the only one who worries about what people might think,” Emma whispers when Regina can’t seem to make a move, “I don’t have a problem with age, but thinking like other people has kept me safe—but you’re not safe, Regina Mills, you are…” she takes in a breath, an awestruck expression on her face, “ _extraordinary_.” Turning serious once more, Emma continues, “and you don’t need to dull who you are for anyone else.”

 

This time when Regina pulls Emma toward her by the back of her neck, there isn’t any guidelines on how she should act, what she should do, and what is appropriate. _This_ time, Regina pulls Emma to her with clarity, red painted lips pressing firmly against pink in a kiss that might be considered possessive. She doesn’t push too far, doesn’t go beyond the close-lipped kiss Emma had given her before, knowing when and how to push boundaries that aren’t hers. “Mouth-to-mouth. You looked like you needed it” she husks in same manner Emma had before, fingertips trailing down a heated cheek. “Now let me try and be a worthy date for the most beautiful woman here.”

 

 _What would you do if I had to kiss you right now?_ Emma had asked a few hours ago, the thought of soft lips pressed against hers unimaginable, but Regina can’t believe that her inadequate answer of kissing back and paying Emma a compliment had been true _._ Sometimes, she underestimates how predictable she can be, how comfortable she can get in a certain mindset that doesn’t turn the tides as much as she likes to think it does.

 

Brushing the bark of the tree from the back of her dress, the maroon fabric thankfully dark enough not to stain, Regina takes a hold of Emma’s hand and leads her back inside, avoiding the wine that doesn’t have any business with her anymore. For as long as her lips tingle with the memory of their kisses, Regina isn’t going to shy away from being obnoxiously loud about her feelings for Emma—Mal and her girlfriend be damned.

 

…

 

She hadn’t really thought about how much a first kiss could change a dynamic, but there is significantly more touch that’s now welcomed. Leaning into Emma whilst she looks ahead at Marian who blushes at Robin’s impromptu speech, Regina allows Emma to cradle her hand that sits innocently in her lap, to lean forward and press a kiss to her cheek that isn’t founded on more than the romantic atmosphere.

 

“They look good together don’t they?” Emma whispers in her ear, causing her to turn just slightly. Or perhaps, Regina thinks, Emma might be feeling more comfortable with her now that she’s sober and in the present, looking more like someone that she recognises instead of the sullen stranger sitting at the table before.

 

Shrugging, Regina plays idly with Emma’s fingers, watching the food that’s being delivered to each table rather than the couple. They’ve been delayed by nearly two hours, and Regina is famished from introducing Emma to everyone within sight as her girlfriend. Once the perception of everyone judging her had fallen away, it had been significantly easier to take compliments and questions at face value, watching as Emma charmed her way through conversations with the skill of someone who works in customer service. Even Abigail had been placated afterwards, intrigued once more by the dynamic that they seemed to put forth.

 

“Would it be gluttonous to ask for the main course before they even set out the starters?”

 

Snorting a chuckle into her shoulder, Emma shakes her head lightly. “I was going to ask if they could bring out the desert first.”

 

Pressing her lips together to keep her laughter trapped, Regina leans back further into Emma who must be sitting on the edge of her seat for her chin to rest so easily on Regina’s shoulder. They probably look like fools in love, people who can’t keep their hands to themselves when the doors close behind them, but Regina has never been able to love so easily, with only lips and fingers to speak what she has so much difficulty communicating with words. Perhaps this is the way Emma loves, even if it’s only for a night, even if it’s only for a weekend.

 

Their starters placed in front of them, the crowd buzzes once more with conversation as both Marian and Robin settle down. “Butternut soup,” Emma says, finally disentangling from her, “what did you get?”

 

“Greek salad,” she answers, mixing in the dressing without waiting for anyone else to start. “When I checked the plus one box I didn’t put in any dietary requirements, so they most likely reverted to their default menu for you.” Piercing some lettuce with her fork, Regina brings the food up to her lips before she turns to Emma in alarm. “You don’t… have any allergies, do you?” One would think this to be a first date sort of question, and Regina has essentially taken Emma out on one of them, but these are things that she wants to know about now, things that are just as important as Emma’s living arrangements and whether her name is real.

 

Blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it, Emma shakes her head in the negative, smiling with too much humour at Regina’s relieved expression. Finally able to eat in peace, Regina follows suit and chews on her mouthful of salad, repressing a moan at the taste that must seem more delicious due to her hunger than the quality of her food. Unfortunately, before she’s even filled her stomach, the salad is finished, and she’s left with an empty bowl and a pout on her lips.

 

“Taste some,” Emma says from beside her, holding out a spoonful of soup with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Regina wants to refuse, because Emma clearly wants to feed her, and such behaviour is inapp—

 

Before she can finish the thought, before she can talk herself into being appropriate and an educated woman, Regina’s lips wrap around the spoon, allowing the sweet warmth of the butternut soup to slide down her throat. “ _Mmm_ ,” she hums, licking her lips, enjoying the way Emma’s eyes trace the movement.

 

Their teasing only lasts so long however, and Regina is once again swept up by her hunger as the main course is served. Emma feeds her the roast quail to _taste_ , then complains that the bird was too small, only to have a legitimate excuse to steal the chicken off Regina’s plate with a challenging smirk. She supposes she’ll get Emma back at dessert, but by the time it’s being distributed she finds herself standing to greet Marian, squealing as they hug each other.

 

“You look so good!” Regina exclaims, holding Marian at arm’s length to appreciate the mink floor length dress she wears, the fabric flowy and straps just thick enough to be appropriate.

 

Dismissing her compliment like it’s nothing, Marian gestures at her and fans herself. “ _Excuse_ _me_ , Miss off-shoulder,” she drawls, widening her eyes comically at Regina’s cleavage, “but someone looks smoking!”

 

Regina rolls her eyes at the overly exaggerated compliment, still hugging Marian with one arm as she gestures toward Emma who stands, a dot of ice-cream on the corner of her mouth. Clicking her tongue, Regina wipes the ice-cream off with her thumb when Emma comes closer,  the action quick enough not be noticed by the others at the table, but it catches Marian’s eyes nonetheless if the look she shoots Regina is any indication. “Marian, this is Emma, my girlfriend.” Rehearsed, the line said one too many times, it sounds flat, unlike the breathy and excited introduction she had made eight years ago.

 

“Girlfriend?”

 

 _Yes, my girlfriend_ , she wants to say, but her jaw refuses to work and the words stick to the back of her throat. When she turns to the side, her one hand still around Marian’s shoulders and the other hovering between Emma and herself, Regina finds that ball of panic in the middle of her chest to explode.

 

Emma says from beside her, “yes,” sounding so confident, her fingers clasping over Regina’s hovering hand to pull them closer. Marian stiffens by her side, and she must be saying something to diffuse the situation because there’s a smile on her face, but Regina can’t hear anything. She wasn’t ready, and she most certainly did not want Mal to find out about her relationship with Emma like _this_.

 

The smug introductions, the unnecessary touches, maybe a few comments on how happy she is had been planned, but ever since Emma had made her feel so much, Regina hasn’t had a chance to adjust her daydreams to suit their relationship. Standing in front of Mal who wears a casual jumpsuit like it’s nothing less than a three-piece suit, her platinum blonde hair straightened to perfection, and her pouty lips painted a dark maroon, Regina feels herself shrink. Mal doesn’t look like she’s been losing sleep over the loss of their marriage, she doesn’t look like she regrets the affair—she looks normal, like nothing has changed, and Regina almost wants to reach out, to stand beside Mal who had always placed her hand on the small of her back when they stood together, silently keeping her close.

 

There’s another hand on her back however, a palm running up and down her arm to soothe her. “You’re shaking,” Emma whispers in her ear, a strained smile on her lips that falters when their eyes meet. “Do you want to leave?” she asks, and Regina could kiss her for being so considerate, but if she keeps running from this, there won’t be any room for something new, something that she’s learning is precious.

 

“You didn’t bring _her_ along?” Regina finds herself asking instead, the question directed at Mal with every ounce of bitterness she has left. The stroking of her arm stops, but Regina merely raises her eyebrow at Mal’s amused expression, staring up at her ex-wife whose height she curses. As angry as Regina is, she still can’t look down at Mal who towers over her, looking calm and collected, almost entertained by the way Regina behaves.

 

Licking her lips, a flicker of something crossing her expression, Mal forces a smile at her. “No,” she says evenly, but doesn’t provide any more information, leaving her confused and irritated all at once. “Although I see you’ve moved on.”

 

The way she says it, so smoothly and with such biting nicety, that it completely disarms Regina. She doesn’t know if she has really moved on, what with her insomnia only just easing off, and this tentative agreement between Emma and her sitting on rocky ground that shifts and turns as their mood does. Her tongue twisted in knots, the scathing remarks that are usually so easily accessed now unreachable, Regina only hopes that Emma won’t be too scarred by this when Mal holds out her hand.

 

“I’m Mal,” she says sweetly, “Regina’s ex.” So easy to claim, to say _I’ve been here_ , and it could mean a hundred different things ranging from good to bad, from possessive to dismissive.

 

Watching the interaction with a concerned gaze, Regina squirms as Emma grips Mal’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Emma,” she introduces herself casually, an easy smile on her face with that dimple showing, insults and judgements washing over her like water off a duck’s back—and Regina has had this thought before, in a dingy motel room where secrets had been shared, where she wasn’t important to Emma, where this very laidback demeanour had been the cause for many of her curses. “And I’m glad you are,” she says through a chuckle, “if you weren’t, I would have never met Regina. We’re honestly, so grateful to you.”

 

Turning sharply toward Emma who looks at her fondly, Regina gapes openly at her, not bothered about the audience that they have. No one stands up to Mal like that, not with her own poisonous methods being used against her in a way that’s both kind and cutting. The crack in Regina’s heart bursts, bending and breaking the perception she had of Emma. She isn’t only emotionally mature, but intelligent as well, and if Regina weren’t in the middle of a celebration, she just might break down in tears from the sudden bout of emotion she feels.

 

“Oh really?” Mal chokes out, sounding like she’s had her high heels kicked out and is forced to stand on even ground with them. “How did you meet?”

 

“Emma rescued me,” she manages to say, holding Emma’s gaze for longer than appropriate before she turns toward Mal again. What she sees when she looks upon her ex-wife now resembles what she had expected of someone to have truly lost something, and the regret clear on Mal’s face doesn’t quite give her the satisfaction she had hoped it would. Anger, bitterness, betrayal, it all dissolves when faced not with the idea of Mal that she had created in her head—the villain, the wife, the ideal— but rather the reality of her that seems just as real as Emma, just as layered and normal. “I had a flat,” she continues, “Emma helped change that.”

 

Pressing her lips together, Mal forces a smile, nodding at the way this conversation seems to have tipped into something aggressive. Emma smoothly interjects, resuming the stroking of Regina’s arm as she clears her throat. “Regina hasn’t had dessert yet,” she says, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to our meal.”

 

“Of course,” Mal grits out, “well, it was nice to meet you, Emma.” Her gaze slides toward Regina meaningfully, examining her before the expression on Mal’s face dulls significantly. “I’ll see you around, Regina,” she says in parting, walking away with brisk steps that leave no doubt to anyone standing witness that Mal might be hurt.

 

A low whistle grabs Regina’s attention, Marian raising both her eyebrows with a grimace on her face. “That was intense. Are you alright?” Squeezing her shoulder where Emma’s hand has not claimed, Marian leans in close to whisper, “your girl has got some bite,” and then proceed to growl for added effect.

 

The teasing comment earns Marian a shove to her shoulder and a derisive snort. It doesn’t deter her from wiggling her eyebrows though, walking backwards where Robin hugs her from behind, whispering something in her ear.

 

“Your friend is nice,” Emma says, holding up a bowl of ice-cream to Regina who pushes it away.

 

Regina breathes out in relief once everything settles again. “Thank you,” she says, “you really did rescue me from what would have been an embarrassing confrontation.”

 

The easy smile and causal posture is gone, replaced by a blushing Emma who nervously tucks her hair behind her ears. “I might have been a little heavy handed. I didn’t want to come off as your dietician at the end, but you seemed like you wanted her to leave.”

 

“I did,” she answers honestly, knowing that she needs to have a proper conversation with Mal soon, but it doesn’t have to be today. For now, knowing that Mal doesn’t make her palms sweat and stomach clench with nerves is enough, it’s more than enough to know that _yes_ , she has moved on.

 

…

 

Somehow, after food and drinks— of which had not been used as numbing technique, but rather a celebratory indulgence, one Emma had approved of when she too drank just as much as Regina— they find themselves on the picnic blanket from their morning hike, looking up as the sky darkens.

 

The party had lasted only so long where conversations were no longer stilted but instead filled with nostalgic stories and bad jokes, the music too tame and the dance floor too small to do anything else but head back to their cabins. Regina had been disappointed with too little time spent feeling light, and instead brought out the picnic blanket to lay across the grass in front of their cabin.

 

“We should have danced,” Emma groans, “pushed the tables and chairs back, plugged in someone’s cellphone—”

 

Waving her hand in the air, Regina interrupts. “Not when the bride and groom have to be well rested, and the guests too dignified, dear.”

 

Emma leans over her, gasping in faux outrage. “ _Dear_? Who’s the fifties housewife now?”

 

With lethargic limbs Regina grasps Emma’s chin, pulling her close enough to kiss. “Don’t like it?” she asks seriously, “what works for you? Dearest? Darling? Sweetheart?”

 

Pretending to think, like the strain from keeping her pleased smile off her lips isn’t noticed, Emma hums as she contemplates each term of endearment. “I always thought I was a babe kind of girl, you know?”

 

Regina does _not_ know, nor will she ever call anyone _babe_ , and she makes it very clear by pushing Emma off from her. “How common,” she laments, standing up on wobbly legs to hold out a hand to Emma. “And you, my dear, are anything but common.”

 

Once Emma lifts herself up, the front lights of the cabins turning on as it gets dark enough, Regina winds her hands around Emma’s waist and pulls her close. “What are you doing?” Emma asks, voice breaking as she speaks over thick emotion.

 

She sets Emma’s left hand on her shoulder and takes the other one in her hand, positioning them with ease as Regina begins to sway them to no music. “Dancing,” she whispers, smiling too brightly, too brilliantly as Emma clicks into every ideal she’s managed to build for a potential partner since she first learnt about romance. Emma is powerful in so many ways, beautiful and deserving of things that the world has been too unkind to give. Regina wonders how she had become so lucky to provide just this sliver of love to her.

 

“There’s no music.” It isn’t a complaint, but it is an observation that doesn’t stop their swaying, nor dampen the captivated expression on Emma’s face.

 

Before, when there had been a ring on her finger and certain standards to live up to, standards that she herself had endorsed, Regina would have never even considered this. Dancing outside on the grass barefoot? With no music? What a waste of time. But here, with Emma in her arms, Regina takes a breath and _sings_.

 

“Lady in r—” she pauses, looking down at Emma’s navy-blue halter-neck dress, the fabric clinging and sensual, completely mismatched from Regina’s own maroon. She starts again, smooth and meaningful. “Lady in _blue_ is dancing with me. Cheek to cheek. There’s nobody here, it’s just you and me, it’s where I wanna be. But I hardly know this beauty by my side. I’ll never forget the way you look tonight.”

 

Regina sings softly to Emma, smiling through the lyrics that are corny and would make anyone else cringe. She marvels at the way that Emma soaks this in, how the hand that’s supposed to be resting on her shoulder climbs up to tangle in her hair instead. This is what she had wanted, to be the romantic she had suppressed, and to make Emma happy. It’s what makes her sing softer, the words nothing more than a whisper as her eyes drop down to Emma’s parted lips, the soft press of them heavenly against her own.

 

The kiss isn’t anything like their fierce first, or possessive second. This kiss feels like something shared between equals, between two people who understand each other and their needs. This is a kiss that doesn’t care about boundaries when Regina allows her lips to slide over Emma’s, tasting her smile that makes it difficult to do more than slowly savour the moment.

 

“You’re going to make me fall in love with you,” Emma whispers against her lips, eyes closed and speaking more to herself than anything.

 

Completely smitten, Regina agrees with a promised, “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song used in this chapter is Lady in red by Chris de Burgh and you can find the song with the lyrics [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=te9IWhXJvQo)


	8. Physical intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you dear reader, for allowing me the time I needed to get this chapter just right. This is probably the most important chapter in the entire story, and I had to be very delicate with it. So hopefully the content makes up for the lag in update.
> 
> Be warned, NSFW content.

Beyond such intimacy, there sits an uncertainty which Regina tries not to dwell on. They’ve kissed a few times, she’s serenaded Emma, and the possibility of this timed relationship going on for longer is so tangible, she can almost taste it.

 

They’ve simmered down now, the evening growing quiet, and their nightly routines completed. Laying side by side in bed tonight however, feels far more awkward and tense than it did the first time they tried this. Regina suspects that the lack of any physical contact Emma initiates might be due to the fear of going too far, but that could just be Regina projecting, and she will not riddle herself with weakness so easily.

 

Sleeping on her back with her hands clasped above the bedspread, fingers clutching each other tightly, Regina blinks up at the ceiling and wills herself to sleep. If she accidentally cuddles Emma whilst she’s unconscious, then that’s not her problem—if she does it wide awake, then that’s _a_ problem.

 

“Can’t sleep?” she hears, the blanket rustling as Emma adjusts herself to sleep on her side. Turning her head to steal a glimpse at Emma, Regina snaps her gaze back to the ceiling when she’s caught out.

 

She doesn’t have to answer the question, doesn’t have to out herself on these new urges that have her laying stiffly on her side of the bed— but when does Regina ever do anything for the benefit of her self-image anymore? “No, it’s just… you’re too close.”

 

The frown lines on Emma’s face is visible from the corner of her eye, but Regina doesn’t make any move to clarify her half-baked response to a perfectly innocent question. How can she possibly tell Emma that she can feel her body heat from under the blanket, that the faint smell of Emma’s bodywash makes her want to taste it? Her answer probably sounds too deep, something to ponder about in the same measures as her previous replies that hold no weight to her mindset now.

 

A hand settles atop her own, fingers curling into her tense fist to be clasped within Emma’s hold. It’s safe, something they’ve done a hundred times without such thought before, and Regina foolishly allows herself to relax as Emma scoots even closer to her in bed. She comes close enough that Regina can feel her every breath, hear the thump of Emma’s heartbeat that presses against her shoulder when she shifts. Gently, as if approaching a cobra, Emma presses a kiss to her cheek, a feather light touch that drifts down over Regina’s jawline, subtle in it’s intent that Regina sighs out loud at.

 

When Emma reaches her throat however, half of her body covered by a comforting weight, that’s when Regina pushes Emma back with a firm hand. “What are you doing?” she asks with a husk, lust tinging her voice even if her subtle refusal leaves no room to negotiate the unsaid matter.

 

The confused frown on Emma’s face shouldn’t be so adorable, but Regina finds the deprived expression that settles across pretty features charming in its own way. “You have an itch,” Emma says softly, like she’s making a cup of coffee that Regina has just said she doesn’t want, “I can help you scratch it.”

 

Regina pulls the blankets up to her neck, trying and failing to hide her alarm as she turns toward Emma whose face is much too close to hers. “That’s— I mean… I look at sex differently. It’s more than an itch to be scratched, it’s…”

 

“You’re telling me that sex isn’t a physical feeling that, if done right, gets you an orgasm that might last ten seconds or more?” Rolling her eyes, Emma turns on her back with a laugh, folding both her hands under her head as she looks to Regina with a challenge. She doesn’t _understand_ , doesn’t see how Regina being ready for such intimacy might translate into something more.

 

Her urges shifting from lust to pride, the unsaid challenge unmistakably taken even as Regina huffs like arguing this point is beneath her. Rising up to lean on one elbow so she can look down at Emma, the straightened ends of her hair curling over her shoulder with the action, Regina attempts to come up with the best way to get her point across. “Yes,” she agrees, “it can be a physical experience, but it is also an emotional one. You’re stripping yourself bare for this person, there’s trust that has to be present, and I know,” Regina says, pulling herself up to lean on her palm instead, her elbow hurting from digging into the mattress, “that it doesn’t always have to be that way. But the way I look at it, there has to be more to it than seeking an orgasm.”

 

There are giggles from the other side of the bed, Emma pushing herself up to level with Regina, her eyebrows raising as she whispers her question too close to Regina’s lips. “So you don’t like orgasms?” She sounds so smug, full of attitude that had made Regina want to strangle her before, and it still elicits the same passionate response when Regina is relatively well rested now.

 

Competitive enough to take this as an open dare, Regina asks, “who said I don’t like orgasms?” Eyes narrowing at Emma who only smirks. “All I said was that there has to be more. Surely, you’ve loved someone so much that your emotions spilled out into the physical, where you couldn’t stand to be apart from them, where you wanted nothing more than to devour them whole. It can’t be called _making love_ for no reason.”

 

Emma snorts with derision, decidedly too set in her ways on this topic despite wanting romance for everything else. “Sounds more like cannibalism to me,” she says, shifting back to lie down with her hands behind her head to prop herself up, the distinct view of this _lack_ in Emma’s sexual experiences too open for Regina to see.

 

An anger still builds behind Regina’s eyes however, Emma’s casual dismissal of her views on this matter infuriating in more ways than one. There isn’t any point arguing over this, but behind the anger there is fear, and Regina doesn’t want Emma to look at her like another one-night stand just because there’s the presence of desire between them now. If Emma runs, if she leaves when they’re both not ready, Regina isn’t sure what hell that might bring. Flopping back down onto the bed to turn away from Emma, blankets pulled up to her chin, Regina hugs herself under the covers and allows the heavy hand of sleep to press down onto her muscles.

 

Eyes closed and jaw barely able to move, she manages to whisper out, “I’d only be intimate with someone I love. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.” Too tired to dwell on the hidden message, to edit her words to sound like something less than _I could love you_ , Regina allows herself to fall, a buzz of Emma’s reply lost as she loses herself to dreams that doesn’t linger on whether her rant about _making love_ had hit any open nerves.

 

:::

 

It occurs to her when she wakes up alone, the blankets tangled around her legs and wrapped tightly around her torso, that despite being frustrated with Emma, she had managed to gain enough comfort in her presence to have a good night’s sleep— the pain between her shoulder blades excluded.

 

Emma has become _familiar_ , someone she clutches onto like a pacifier. Whether this means that Regina doesn’t actually need Emma, but rather clings onto her like a child with a fixation, she can’t be too sure, not when she’s an adult with legitimate excuses like lust and love at her disposal.

 

Running her hand down her face to wipe away the evidence of sleep that still clings to her features, Regina stumbles her way to the bathroom to freshen up. Yesterday had been child’s play, a small event to welcome guests and celebrate the marriage to come, but today is a whole new ball game that will require Regina at her best.

 

The itinerary doesn’t apply to her, not when she’s the best friend that will have to run behind the wedding planner and calm Marian’s nerves when she’s fretting about one thing or another— and it’s already late, the time flashing just after seven o’clock enough motivation for her to move a little quicker.

 

The hot shower doesn’t ease the tension between her shoulder blades, but it does manage to wake her up from the lethargic state she had dragged herself under the spray with. Briskly, with purpose and the knowledge that today is the day her best friend is getting married, Regina pulls up a pair of blue jeans and throws on a presentable t-shirt that she can move in. Coffee is next on the agenda, but when she enters the main room of the cabin and sees it to be empty, Regina finds it odd that there’s a silence which seems to linger in the space where Emma is supposed to be.

 

“Emma?” Regina calls softly, abandoning her task of making coffee to go in search of her temporary girlfriend.

 

The cabin is empty, the porch bare, and Regina panics only just a little until she sees Emma’s suitcase exactly where it’s been for the past two nights. “Emma will turn up,” she tells herself, straightening out the blankets on the bed and fluffing the pillows. There isn’t any reason for Emma to run away without her things—unless their discussion from last night had been too much? Or perhaps Emma had found someone better than Regina in the wedding party who won’t harp on about useless things and ruin lust-filled moments.

 

Regina pinches the bridge of her nose to stop her train of thought, the journey sending her into dark familiar places. She’ll wait in the cabin until she’s had her coffee, and if Emma doesn’t turn up by then, Regina promises herself that she will go down to check on Marian and the wedding preparations without her.

 

…

 

“Where the—” _hell have you been?!_ Regina takes in a harsh breath, arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the cabin door. Emma had told her that she gets angry when she’s scared, and Regina knows now that Emma disappearing had left her terrified about things she had thought solved. Had she not been good enough? too suffocating? Had she moved too quickly? or been too proud to open her legs?

 

Her worries are swallowed down, t-shirt smoothed over her stomach as she stands to greet Emma. “You were sleeping,” Emma says easily, bypassing her to leave a takeout container on the kitchen nook. “Thought I’d bring you some breakfast.”

 

The whole thing leaves Regina seething— each small issue exploding into a million pieces as she makes a mountain out of a molehill— but she will not give Emma the satisfaction of being right today, and instead smiles too widely at the gesture. “Thank you,” Regina says evenly, not bothering to touch the food, not when she would have brought them both breakfast and served it in bed with good morning kisses and teasing plans for the day ahead. Emma is not her however, and her romantic bone resembles that of a parent instead of lover, one who makes sure that Regina is fed and safe, but not wooed.

 

Emma frowns, mirroring Regina’s defensive stance. “You were sleeping well for the first time since I met you, I didn’t want to disturb that.” She looks ready to defend, like whatever good thing they’ve had going from the night before has been deemed null and void in the face of the sun that shines a light on everything. Regina wants to run away from this, to keep pretending that everything between them is as easy as dancing to no music and promises of falling in love. It had been easy with Mal, like a hot knife through butter that had gone right through— but Emma doesn’t chuckle and please her for now, only to sigh and complain about her years down the line.  Emma is another breed altogether, one without a mask, and Regina doesn’t know how to handle it all today.

 

A testing gaze follows her when she pulls out a plate and cutlery, sitting down on a stool to unload the blueberry pancakes that Emma had brought her. “Did you eat?” she asks, pushing aside difficult topics and easing herself into the role of a significant other. If her back twinges due to tension from this wedding, then the stiffness in Emma’s arms must mean something too. During all of this, Regina had unknowingly made Emma invested in Marian’s wedding and the little intricacies of every social interaction; how each hello and goodbye directly translates into their own relationship that balances on uneven ground, no matter their attempts to stabilise it.

 

The quiet shake of Emma’s head makes Regina sigh, a forkful of pancake lifted up for Emma to take. She says, “we’ll share,” in a tone that dips into the territory of their non-verbal conversations, the ones with double meanings and secret languages that she so dearly misses.

 

Emma takes the pancake into her mouth, chewing carefully. “You’re angry,” Emma observes, slipping down onto the stool next to Regina, sitting too close and not close enough.

 

“I am,” Regina agrees, unable to bring herself to lie about her emotions anymore. Eating her own piece of pancake, another one cut up and held out for Emma, Regina can see the surprise flickering across youthful features, the slow ascent of that abused lip into the cage of Emma’s teeth. “Don’t do that,” she scolds, pulling Emma’s lip out of her mouth to replace it with the pancake instead.

 

Swallowing, Emma unconsciously licks over the spot she had bitten on her lip. “Why are you angry?” she asks, sounding almost as afraid as Regina herself.

 

“You were gone,” Regina answers, “I panicked when you weren’t here, and I didn’t find a note.”

 

Her fork is set down when Emma pushes her hand away, Regina’s eyebrows pulling together in a frown. “My bags were still here, your car keys are still in the main hall, and I haven’t left before…” It seems to baffle Emma, this anger that isn’t as well placed as the rest of Regina’s fury, and when her sentence trails off, Regina can finally see the uncertainty that rests on Emma’s shoulders that’s so similar to her own.

 

Regina turns her torso so that she can look at Emma properly, wincing when the muscles in her back stretch. “I didn’t care about my things,” she scoffs, a mocking half-smile on her face, “I care about _you_. What if you tripped and broke your leg, or got attacked by a wild animal, or got kidnapped by Victor? I didn’t know where you were, I couldn’t have helped if I tried.” Technically, Emma has been living alone for so long with no one really taking care of her, that her behaviour isn’t unfounded, but Regina has become so attached that she’s afraid it may come off as possessive. Although, Regina justifies herself by thinking she isn’t holding on to Emma, but rather the romance from last night that’s slipping through her fingers too quickly.

 

There’s still a gentle grip on Regina’s wrist, keeping the empty fork in her plate as Emma clenches her jaw, her eyes rimmed red. “If you cared… wouldn’t you care more about the fact that I came back, not that I left?”

 

It’s such an irritating question, one that deserves an answer, but no answer is deserving of the question. How can Regina explain the feeling of loss that cannot be chased away by relief, or the experience of heartbreak that cannot be mended by an attempt to reconcile. “No,” she eventually answers, “because love is selfish after all.”

 

“Care—you mean, _care_?”

 

Picking up another piece of pancake to hold up to Emma, Regina smiles thinly. “Yes,” she whispers, “that’s what I meant.”

 

:::

 

Marian sits delicately at the ornate dressing table, setting out her jewellery with care. She listens with a smile on her face, the muscles in her back shifting with each necklace she tries to match with the pair of earrings she has chosen to wear for this afternoon. Regina almost loathes Marian for her calm demeanour, for the way she seems at ease with everything even when Regina herself moves from here to there with too much to do, and nothing that requires her assistance.

 

“The green one,” she snaps, tired of watching Marian place each necklace up against the sun to check the way it glitters.

 

Laughing, Marian looks up at Regina through the mirror, wiggling her eyebrows with knowing. “Oh dear,” she sighs, fingers curling under her chin as she rests her elbow on the dresser, “do you need help with untwisting your bra strap?”

 

Her eyes narrow at Marian, shoulder rolling back to try and get rid of the uncomfortable feeling of a twisted bra strap against her tender muscles. “No,” she lies, arms crossed over her chest as she makes her way closer to the jewellery sets laid out. “But the green one looks the best.”

 

Index finger tracing along the emeralds, the action distant and unbothered, it makes Regina frown when she witnesses Marian staring at the mirror with a vacant look in her eyes. She wants to ask what’s wrong, whether anything is amiss, but Marian’s gaze turns sharp again, and Regina falls silent when her friend begins to speak. “I used to have a crush on you,” Marian says softly, like she’s confessing her sins to someone who won’t repeat it.

 

The room falls silent again, shadows dancing across the walls as Regina takes a seat beside Marian, her back to the mirror where she can’t see the reflection of whatever this might mean. “You never said anything.” Whispered, her words sound far more intimate than she would like them to, but Regina can’t help herself, not when Marian looks relieved and burdened all at once.

 

Their eyes meet, heavy and thick with a hidden message that Regina tries to decipher from the universe. She’s known Marian for _years_ , but had never seen anything resembling affection beyond friendship from her. This confession shakes Regina’s world, turns everything upside down where she’s been walking on the ceiling like a fool this whole time.

 

“I didn’t need to say anything,” Marian scoffs, rolling her eyes like she’s talking about the weather, “but I wanted to say it out loud before I commit myself to someone else, and all that.” Waving it off as nothing important, Marian returns to the emerald necklace, setting it against her neck and turning toward Regina for approval.

 

Regina can’t let go so easily however, and the questions keep coming even when she knows to drop the subject entirely. This is also inappropriate, and should never be broached, but Regina’s curiosity makes her grab Marian’s hand to lower the necklace and gain her attention. “When?” she asks evenly, sounding too strict.

 

Silence fills the air with Marian breathing slowly as if not to disrupt it, but Regina’s glare must be fierce because she groans out in defeat. “When you first started working, okay? We had been friends for years, and then you met Mal. I never got to see you in love, but… you _glowed_. You became focused on Mal, doing things so cheesy that I might’ve been a little jealous.” Grasping her hands, Marian breathes out a sigh, squeezing Regina’s fingers tightly within her own. “I’m not telling you this because I want to call off the wedding or anything—I love Robin, I want to make that clear. I’m telling you this because I want you to know that it’s the most beautiful thing to see you in love. And I know the _way_ you love usually isn’t affected by whether that someone loves you back, but _God_ … you’re holding back now, and you really shouldn’t—for your own sake.”

 

She chokes, tears and laughter trying to come out of her all at once. “I don’t know what prompted this, Marian—”

 

“At first I was going to confess that I wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed by _The Regina Mills_ before I become Mrs Locksley,” Marian says, wiggling her eyebrows with the audacity of a long-time friend, “but now I want you to know that it’s okay to love Emma. Even if you don’t let go of Mal yet, make a little room for that girl. She’s going to love you back in the same way, you know.”

 

Arms wrapping around Marian, Regina pulls her close enough to leave a big kiss on her cheek. She squeezes Marian tightly, feeling strong arms wrap around her torso as this approval that means more to Regina than she will ever admit out loud sinks in. “I almost had my hopes up for a moment,” Regina rasps around a lump in her throat, blinking back tears that she tries to hide with a laugh when Marian smacks her on the arm.

 

“Go,” Marian says fondly, “there’s bound to be something on that itinerary that you can do with Emma instead of standing around here doing nothing.”

 

Regina scoffs, releasing Marian slightly as she leans back. “I am doing plenty, thank you.”

 

The laughter that escapes Marian can’t be as insulting as Regina thinks it is, but she crosses her arms across her chest with petulance when Marian finally speaks. “You’re fretting over nothing. And besides, I need time to process that I endured the world’s sloppiest kiss in history.”

 

Sticking her tongue out at Marian childishly, the action bred from too many nights spent losing arguments in Marian’s dorm, Regina finally gets up and heads for the door. “He’s lucky, you know,” she says, the door slightly ajar and her body halfway out of the room. “Robin is getting to marry a real _charmer_.”

 

A pleased smile on her face, and only the slightest hint of a blush on brown skin, Marian snorts out a playful, “get out from here, you cheese ball.”

 

With a smile on her face, the door closes behind her with a soft _snick_. With the wedding preparations clearly well taken care of, Regina resigns herself to finding Emma and making a day of it. Wasn’t there something about strawberry picking that Emma mentioned?

 

…

 

In the distance, chatting amicably to a young couple, she sees Emma with a basket in her hand and a smile on her face. Regina might be wearing the wrong shoes, but she still manages to keep the discomfort of sand getting into her sandals off her face, stretching her lips into an answering smile at the sight of Emma instead.

 

Regina knows that she’s been holding back in the way that she has been showing Emma affection. Unable to really blame herself for being cautious, Regina reminds herself that she’s only just started healing from a bad divorce. The feeling of being in love itself used to be a high that Regina chased, disregarding whether the person she set her sights on was interested or not—and perhaps that was the selfishness that she’s been talking about so often, because surely nothing else about love is supposed to be that possessive? Personally, with her own ideals and expectations on how she should display her feelings, there might have been times where she threw one too many tantrums when Mal had wanted to do something a little different.

 

Bending down to fold the hem of her jeans up over her ankles, preventing them from getting any dirtier than they need to be, Regina doesn’t see the collision until there’s an arm around her waist and it’s too late to move back lest she fall on her butt.

 

“Regina,” Mal breathes, like she had forgotten Regina was even here to begin with. She finds that a little insulting considering this entire weekend for Regina had been about her previous marriage, and how that might be an obstacle in starting a new relationship—but Mal looks unaffected as usual.

 

Yesterday, with Emma by her side and only a few cutting words said, she had managed to stand in front of Mal for more than two minutes without making a break for it. Now however, with no support structure and her heart doing something painful, Regina bypasses Mal and makes a move to get as far away from her as possible.

 

“Are we really going to do this?” Mal’s voice reaches her with the same tired intensity as the strength of her recently cured insomnia. The sound of it makes Regina want to throw up, a dry heave nearly escaping her until she reigns it back in for the sake of her dignity. It has still been over a year since they saw each other, and whatever impression she might’ve left at the lawyer’s office on the day of their divorce can still be changed.

 

Turning around, the lump in her throat swallowed down with purpose, she smiles a thin, fragile smile. “Do what?” Regina asks, eyes burning as they try too hard not to focus on how remorseful Mal looks, how devastated she seems standing there with a basket similar to Emma’s own on her arm, light hair pulled back from her face that lacks its usual makeup.

 

A sigh, one directed at the ground answers her question. She used to be able to read Mal’s every mood, know what she wants to say without saying it—but in retrospect, perhaps Regina did not, because there was still another woman in their bed, one that had pulled sounds from her ex-wife that Regina hadn’t heard before. “Pretend like we’ve never been married,” Mal finally says, holding Regina’s gaze with the same regret she had imagined on her ex-wife’s face for months after the divorce. This is the same look that Regina had wanted to see at the lawyer’s office, or during their explosive fight after Regina had caught Mal out, or any time before Emma, really. She was ready to take Mal back with a simple _sorry_ and _I’ll never do it again,_ just last month.

 

The lump that Regina has been battling at the back of her throat constricts her airways, her voice coming out in a strangled whisper when she speaks. “You’ve been the one pretending this entire time! Just because I’m with Emma, because you lost something to someone else, now you want to talk, to—to work things out?!”

 

With resignation written across her face, etched into the smile lines and wrinkles by her eyes, Mal displays nothing but shame as she refuses to defend Regina’s accusations. “We loved each other once, did we not?” Mal asks, and Regina who doesn’t deem herself a violent person wants to hit her. There’s a pounding headache that begins at the base of her head, spreading as she tries to maintain her composure, even if she can feel her eyes burn and the vein in the middle of her forehead strain.

 

Her mouth opens to speak, but Mal grabs her by the hand to drag her further into the fields, behind tall orange trees that block them from view. Mal doesn’t waste the time she’s been given, holding Regina by the shoulders as she begins to speak without taking a breath. “What you saw was a once off thing—it was a mistake, and it was not your fault. You deserve better, Regina. You deserve someone who would appreciate everything you do, every little thing that I’ve called silly or pointless. I understand,” Mal says softly, thumbing away at Regina’s tears that she hadn’t realised were decorating her cheeks, “that we love differently, and that perhaps I had gotten carried away by the importance you gave me. In the end, I did not want to hurt you… I do love you, Regina— only not in the way you had wanted me to. And I am truly sorry for that.”

 

Mal’s hands are still on her cheek, tenderly wiping away the tears that refuse to stop no matter how hard Regina tries to keep it all in. This little kidnap wasn’t for a plea to take Mal back, it was for forgiveness, to let go of the grudge that Regina has been carrying around like an anchor for so long. “Please,” Mal whispers, “forgive me.” It’s honest, raw, and delivered in the way that Regina can’t appreciate right now.

 

“You have no idea,” Regina rasps, “how much I missed you. How much every part of—of my life has been broken because of you. I was ready! I was ready to forgive everything, but you didn’t want to be forgiven then. I have nothing left to give you, Mal. _Nothing_.” It’s childish how she holds onto her anger, grasping onto it for no reason at all other than to make herself suffer because she hadn’t predicted the end of her marriage soon enough. People are right, one does become blind in love.

 

Releasing her, Regina’s back tense and hurting at the levels of extreme, Mal takes a step back. “I thought we could have had a civilised conversation. Clearly you still do not understand that we were not compatible in the long term.” Mal pauses, wiping her wet hands on her jeggings before continuing. “You seemed settled, what with that girl who cannot help but be your knight in shining armour—”

 

“Emma,” Regina grinds out, “her name is Emma, and she’s far better than you will ever be.” She understands how Zelena feels now when someone insults her little sister, an instinctive need to protect rising up like bile. Emma isn’t hers in any measure, but last night Regina had been confident enough to dare Emma to love her, and today she trembles at the slightest word Mal sends her way.

 

Tension builds between them, Mal licking her lips as she shakes her head in a manner very unlike herself. “If you cannot let go of me, Regina,” Mal says carefully, bending down to pick up the basket that Regina hadn’t notice her drop in the first place, “then you will never be able to fully move on.” Lingering, most likely waiting for Regina to finally grant her the forgiveness she so craves, Mal only spares Regina so many moments before she leaves.

 

 _Just like the last time_ , Regina thinks, holding both her hands up to her face to hide her sobs. She doesn’t know why she cries, not when this interaction has finally ceased any lingering hope that she might’ve had regarding her previous marriage—and it wasn’t like she was hoping to reconcile with Mal anyways; she has Emma now, right?

 

Stumbling backwards, Regina leans against the nearest tree and allows her back to rest against the bark. The pain between her shoulder blades intensifies, making it difficult to move anywhere really, and Regina isn’t sure if she wants to move—hasn’t she been comfortable in her suffering before? Or is it simply too soon to move from a dead horse whose body hasn’t yet cooled?

 

:::

 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

 

Regina lies on her back, neck stiff as she tries to keep herself still enough. “Have you?” she asks, elbows digging into the mattress as she painfully pulls herself into an upright position.

 

Emma asks, “what happened?” So concerned, so caring, so everything that Mal proved herself not to be. Cool fingers slide across Regina’s shoulder, holding her in an awkward embrace that only serves to keep her in the position she’s chosen to take. “You look like you’re in pain.”

 

How can Regina possibly explain her turbulent emotions to Emma? Everything seems upside down when they had only just been put right. Laughing, the sound hollow and mocking, Regina says, “I caught my back, is all.” Sliding the issue under the proverbial rug, setting it down as if nothing has happened between this morning and now.

 

Emma moves both her hands to Regina’s shoulders, massaging in small circles that move from the middle of her back outwards. It’s relief, small blissful relief, and Regina sighs as she leans into Emma who only shifts closer. “What’s really wrong?” she asks, guiding Regina to lean against her where the warmth from Emma’s front feels glorious against the aching muscles of Regina’s back. “What did Mal say?”

 

If she hadn’t been riddled with such pain, Regina might’ve turned to face Emma with a glare, but she can’t do much but rest against Emma, allowing her to continue the massage. Regina should say nothing, to keep her past and her present separate from each other, but she can’t help but let it slip out of her mouth, her muscles finally relenting under Emma’s strong touch. “She asked me to forgive her.”

 

The massage stops, but only for a moment before Emma resumes, moving down her arms and back up to Regina’s shoulders again. “And did you?” she asks softly, her lips ghosting over Regina’s jaw before it’s gone again. She thinks Emma must’ve done it by accident, but Regina craves such closeness, the slight ease in her back allowing her to turn toward Emma.

 

To admit that she couldn’t let go would ruin everything, and so Regina cups Emma’s cheek with tenderness, thumb brushing along her jaw. “Thank you,” she says in a whisper, “I feel much better now.” It’s avoidance at its best, a skill learnt from her marriage to Mal where such things were common. Turning back around to push herself up from the bed, a slight wince the only evidence of pain she gives away, Regina sorts a smile onto her face and gives Emma the part of her that she had requested for this weekend.

 

“So tell me,” Regina jokingly demands, pulling out her makeup from its bag to set on the dressing table, “what did you get up to without me?”

 

For a while, the only sound in the room is of lipsticks being lined up on the dressing table, Regina working quickly and efficiently whilst she suspects Emma to have left the room. Chancing a quick glance at the mirror to confirm her suspicions, Regina is rightly surprised to find Emma staring at her with a lovestruck expression that Regina herself had worn a few years ago. She doesn’t know what else comes out of the makeup bag, but Regina keeps working just to sneak glances at Emma whose gaze doesn’t waver. Eventually, there isn’t anything left to come out of the bag, and Regina can’t find any excuses to remain standing like this.

 

Clearing her throat, Regina turns and nods toward the bathroom. “Shall we start getting ready?” she asks, willing herself not to look away from Emma’s eyes which remain focused on her no matter where she moves.

 

Emma inhales as if to say something, but no words come out of her mouth. Silently, with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, Emma makes her way to the bathroom to freshen up as Regina slumps against the wall, wondering why her heart beats so fast.

 

…

 

She hadn’t realised how much of time she had spent fretting and running behind the wedding planner who had everything under control, but Regina stresses now when she attempts to zip up her gown only for her back to ache when she tries to reach for it. The black gown she had purchased with Emma last week still fits like a glove, the embroidery catching the light as she walks in her too high heels.

 

Desperate and cranky, the afternoon escaping them, Regina goes in search of Emma. “Can you hel—”

 

Leaning against the porch railing, golden curls spilling down over her back, Emma faces the setting sun dressed in a suit. It’s black from what Regina can see, tailored pants ending at the ankle where Emma’s shiny silver heels— that oddly matches the embroidery on Regina’s dress— begins. Although when Emma turns at her call, that’s when Regina swoons. Emma wears nothing but the fitted black blazer that shows off her naked chest, breasts teasingly hidden from view with only the slightest of cleavage visible. Her neck and chest highlighted by a thin silver necklace, Regina allows herself to ogle shamelessly at the chain that wraps around Emma’s throat and disappears into a straight line down where the blazer hides.

 

“Wow,” Regina manages, feeling frumpy and unsettled with her unzipped dress and messy curls that she had pinned up in random places.

 

Emma smiles, her hands in her pockets as she approaches Regina with the soft look of a lover. This is something out of one of Regina’s dreams, and she almost pinches herself until Emma’s soft hands wind around her waist to help her set the gown on her shoulders properly, fingers sliding up the zip that Regina couldn’t reach. “Lipstick,” Emma whispers into her ear, the fabric of her blazer brushing against Regina’s bare back where the gown had been scandalous enough not to cover—if Regina pretends that the slit up to her thigh and the deep V along the back hadn’t been why she had bought the gown, then she’s entitled to some virtue here at least.

 

“I just needed you to help me with the zip, not give me beauty tips—”

 

Cut off with a laugh, Regina huffs as Emma presses a kiss to her cheek, the warm pressure of Emma’s hands leaving her waist where they’ve accidentally settled for the time being. “That’s... not what I wanted to say. Your lipstick looks amazing. _You_ look amazing.”

 

For that, Regina manages a blush, overcome with a surge of happiness that makes her reach as far back as she can manage to cup Emma’s cheek, intending to return the kiss she was so generously given. Straining to turn her neck, the warmth from Emma’s hands returning as they once again rest on her waist, Regina doesn’t feel the smooth press of a cheek against her lips, not when there’s a sigh instead and Regina doesn’t know who it’s from. Emma’s lips move against hers, stealing her lipstick that must be smudged by now, but Regina doesn’t care, especially when Emma kisses her slowly, softly, like she’s something to be savoured.

 

A sense of guilt settles heavily in her stomach, one that reminds her that she hasn’t let go of her anger yet. Pulling back when the pain between her shoulders grows worse from twisting in this position, she wipes the back of her hand across her lips and attempts to discard every thought that doesn’t revolve around Emma. “You smudged my lipstick,” Regina teases, wiggling out of the hold to fetch the tube of lipstick that she had set aside.

 

Laughter follows her, the sound light and settled, so opposite to Regina who only rolls her eyes as she applies her lipstick with care. “I can’t help it,” Emma breathes, not bothering to remove the lipstick smeared across her mouth. Regina is helpless, her bad mood alleviated with the sight of a woman who can’t be bothered to right her appearance because she’s too busy ogling the dip in Regina’s back.

 

“You have lipstick all over your face.”

 

Emma swipes her thumb along her lower lip, snorting when it comes away with Regina’s lipstick. Regina wants to kiss her again, to put her in a bottle and never let her go, but people are not belongings, and holding on too tightly never did her any favours before. “I missed you today,” Emma says, taking the tissue that Regina hands her. “I didn’t realise how much of time we spent together this past week. It felt odd without you.”

 

Regina _definitely_ wants to kiss Emma again, she wants to kiss and kiss until her lips turn numb—but there isn’t any time for that now. “We’re getting late,” Regina deflects, walking past Emma to fetch the cabin keys. Thankfully, Marian’s mother and sister are helping with getting the bride ready, so Regina can leave with Emma after having a private breakdown only hours prior.

 

Lipstick reapplied and a swagger in her step, Emma emerges from the room with a smug smirk firmly fixed on her lips. “Sure, sure,” she says, waiting as Regina locks the cabin and drops the keys into her clutch purse. They’re escorted by Victor today, his silence unsettling as he watches them climb onto the golf cart with passengers from the other cabins, most likely eyeing the way Emma effortlessly holds her hand, how she leans into Regina’s side and smiles at her like Regina herself is responsible for the setting sun.

 

“I missed you too,” Regina whispers into Emma’s hair. When she turns away once her words have been registered, Regina pretends as if she hasn’t just uttered something so similar to what she had told Mal a few hours ago, between those trees that hadn’t hid them as well as they would have liked.

 

:::

 

The ceremony commences at exactly half past five. Marian walks down the aisle with her cream dress, flowers twisted into her brown hair to match the motifs along her lace sleeves, and the emerald necklace they had chosen together resting neatly around her neck. She looks beautiful, a sight that has Regina tear up for no real reason at all.

 

A handkerchief is passed to her, one that she dabs under her eyes with as she laughs, and cries, and clutches on tightly to Emma’s arm. Nothing else matters in this moment, not Mal sitting two rows behind her, not the slightly skewed buttons on the officiator’s shirt, not her own thoughts that threaten to sabotage everything just because she believes she’s not worthy of happiness. For now, with Emma holding her close and Marian smiling at her to-be husband with the glitter of tears in her eyes, Regina believes that anything is possible.

 

“Emma,” she calls gently, gaining Emma’s attention almost immediately, that soothing stroke of a hand on her arm ever present. Regina wants to give Emma everything, to declare loudly to anyone worth their ears that Emma is the most wonderful person she has ever had the privilege of knowing, but she settles for a quiet whisper instead. “I want you to know,” she breathes, tuning out Robin’s playful vows and Marian’s blushing laughter, “that there is room for you.”

 

“Room?” Emma asks, tucking a strand of Regina’s hair behind her ears. Those fingertips linger on Regina’s skin, making her shiver when the touch ghosts over her pulse point, and this is its own brand of torture that Regina has only experienced once before in her lifetime.

 

Marian cries through her vows, the breeze picking up to shift her dress and hair like she’s in a movie, and Regina knows her best friend must look beautiful, but she can’t take her eyes off from Emma. “ _Here_ ,” she answers, intertwining her fingers with Emma’s to bring their joined hands up to her chest. Regina may still find herself on the path to healing, piecing together the broken parts of her life that had collapsed after the divorce, but surely she can allow herself to feel love again, no matter if it may hurt her in the end or not.

 

When she finally gets the strength to look away from Emma’s flawed expression, Regina looks up at her best friend who pulls Robin into a kiss, the entire crowd roaring with congratulations as Mr and Mrs Locksley are introduced to them.

 

…

 

“To Marian and Robin!” Regina says, swaying slightly as she holds up her champagne glass, Emma’s hand on her lower back the only thing that keeps her steady. “May you keep each other’s spirit alive, support one another through every endeavour, and continue to love each other more each day. I love you both, always be happy.” Lifting her glass, Regina smiles so wide her cheeks hurt, toasting to the newly-weds with a chorus of glasses clinking behind her as she drinks her champagne.

 

She’s been carefree and happy ever since she had congratulated the couple at the wedding venue, basking in the contagious atmosphere that had become easier to deal with once the stars had come out to play. With Emma constantly by her side, a quiet, shocked presence to stabilise her whenever she had seen Mal from afar, Regina relishes in the feeling of being a part of something greater than herself.

 

With the hub of everything, Regina becomes bold enough to bend down, capturing Emma’s lips in a sweet kiss that seems to linger for longer than necessary. She doesn’t care that the curious looks they have been getting all weekend have now been answered, the questions of what became of her after the divorce put to rest as they watch Regina wholeheartedly invest in someone who is not Mal. “You taste like champagne,” Emma comments with a laugh, tugging on Regina’s hand to get her to sit back down again.

 

In the knowledge of the ingrained lessons Cora had taught her— the ones that are discarded now— Regina knows that she should be more _present_ , focused on this wedding party rather than on Emma who grows more beautiful as the night wears on. Regina can’t remember much from the wedding itself, or the reception that seems to become livelier as the formalities are completed, but she will remember the way Emma smiles at her now, her gaze so soft, so loving.

 

Regina blurts out, “dance with me,” a demand wrapped in a plea that Emma doesn’t toss aside with the eye roll she would have endured a year ago—instead, there’s a hand around her waist and Regina is led to the dance floor where other couples have come to slowly join in on the first dance.

 

“I’m leading,” Emma says confidently, hands already climbing up Regina’s back to stroke gently along the dip in her spine, a teasing touch that leaves Regina trembling when she clasps her fingers behind Emma’s neck to steady herself.

 

Scoffing, ready for banter that resembles a ghost of the anger she had held onto a few weeks ago, Regina pulls herself closer to Emma and shakes her head in the negative. “I’m older, I should lead.”

 

“I’m taller,” Emma counters, swaying Regina to the soft melody even as they argue about it, “and I’m wearing the pa—”

 

Cut off with a kiss, one short and chaste enough to seem appropriate, Regina swallows Emma’s reply with a knowing smirk. “You can lead all you want,” she purrs, lips pressed to the shell of Emma’s ear, “but we both know I’m the better kisser.” It’s an assumption made from restrained acts of intimacy, kisses that haven’t even allowed them to use tongue yet—but Regina doesn’t care, not when Emma’s laughter spills out from her in waves of joy, her eyes sparkling when they finally settle on Regina again.

 

Whispered, the words slipping from teasing to something too pure, Emma says, “sure you are,” and Regina’s heart may have thumped a little too quickly at that, touched and delighted that she’s been given a victory even if she knows there’s still time to be proved wrong.

 

Regina _wants_ to be proved wrong, to be kissed so thoroughly that she forgets anything else but Emma’s lips. The thought that had been planted from the night before has grown into something untameable, a wild beast that has been awakened with no proper direction to aim for. She can’t desire Emma like this without silently admitting to feeling something beyond lust and attraction, her words from the night before wrapping around her arms like barbwire as she tries to wiggle herself free from it. Perhaps, the fear of baring herself for Emma isn’t in the confessions she might make, but the fact that she might never want to stop.

 

Turning too quickly when the music speeds up, the pain between Regina’s shoulder blade flares up again, causing her to wince and move away from Emma who looks at her with worry. “I’m fine,” Regina lies, holding Emma at arms-length with a well measured smile. “I’m going to get a little air.”

 

 _Air_ means leaning against the largest tree in the orchard outside, shadows dancing and turning as the light from the reception party casts a dim glow where Regina stands. She remembers her own wedding, how happy she had been, how proud she had felt to call herself a wife. It’s all gone now, every plan she had ever made for her life strewn aside without care as she tries to piece it all back together. Even if she feels deeply for Emma and continues to feel the same way for time to come, Regina will still have to start over— dating, important conversations, meeting family, a well-planned proposal, an engagement, familial disputes over wedding arrangements, the wedding, a house, a _child_ —

 

“You okay?” Emma’s voice cuts through wherever that line of thinking would have taken her, pulling her from the ache she had developed with Mal’s absence for a _purpose_ , one that she had narrow-mindedly decided was to be a mother instead of a wife. If she had so much love to give, surely, she could provide that to a child who would need it.

 

Licking her lips free of whatever lipstick remains, the red of it most likely stuck to various champagne glasses, Regina nods her head in the affirmative. “Just thinking,” she answers, looking through the glass panels that displays Marian’s smiling face as she dances with Robin who twirls her around.

 

A light touch to her arm brings her back to reality, Emma’s concern clearly visible in the crease between her eyes. Regina knows the questions that might follow, the ones that ask if she’s reminiscing, if she misses Mal, if this is all too much for her—so Regina does what she does best and deflects. “When I first met you,” she starts, turning to adjust herself comfortably against the bark of the tree, “I had several nicknames for you.”

 

Emma asks with a laugh, “oh really? What were they?”

 

The topic light-hearted and teasing enough for her to forget her worries, Regina allows Emma to settle both hands on either side of her, trapping Regina against the tree even if she doesn’t have the strength to move. “There was Miss skinny jeans, Miss tank top…”

 

“Was there anything not relating to my clothes?” Emma asks, too close and not close enough, the scent of her light floral perfume intoxicating.

 

“Miss wannabe cop… Miss muscle arms,” she answers in a whisper, trying and failing to keep her eyes off Emma’s lips, a longing overcoming her without permission. “Then there was Miss luscious locks…” Regina trails off, swallowing thickly when Emma’s lips ghost over hers, measured breaths warm against her chin.

 

Emma urges her on, their noses bumping together as a reminder for Regina to continue. She doesn’t have any more names that she can recall, her mind going blissfully blank as Emma teases her with something that causes her stomach to tighten. “ _Mercedes_.” Breathed out with humour, Regina’s gaze focuses once again on Emma, listening intently as her body moulds against the comforting weight pressing intimately against her. “Bossy, the one with the lips, and…”

 

“And?” she doesn’t want to know, she doesn’t want anything more than for Emma to kiss her senseless, but whatever propriety she has left must be clung onto; this façade of being more than a lust filled woman with too many feelings.

 

Smiling, like the nickname is a secret that Emma won’t reveal, their conversation slows to a stop where the only sounds are the crickets chirping somewhere far away, and the shallow breaths from them both that begs someone to make a move. Regina won’t kiss Emma first, she won’t show her hand so quickly when Emma ravishes people as a onetime special and then tosses them away—that isn’t to say that Regina doesn’t want Emma to ravish her, but going this far means something more than two passing ships in the night, and if she takes this step, Regina will never let go.

 

“I—” stuck, the rest of the sentence hides behind Emma’s teeth as she offers Regina a smile, one that lasts only a second before it’s hidden again. The thin silver necklace that drops down into places Regina wants to see shines when Emma moves back, shifting to look down at the ground where her courage seems to lie. “It’s spilling out,” she eventually says, the bark beside Regina flaking off as Emma’s grip on the tree becomes stronger, “I want—. I want to _devour_ you.”

 

_Surely, you’ve loved someone so much that your emotions spilled out into the physical, where you couldn’t stand to be apart from them, where you wanted nothing more than to devour them whole._

Regina doesn’t know what to say, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as Emma unknowingly makes a commitment to something greater than any one of them can comprehend. Unsaid, the words floating around them, a feeling so intense that Regina can’t help but breathe out a shaky exhale at, she understands finally, that love is more than just a few words.

 

“Please,” Emma breathes looking lost and burdened, weighed down with something new and ancient.

 

Her answer doesn’t come in the form of flowery words and purple prose, she doesn’t have the capacity to verbalise the way it feels to allow her heart to expand, filling all its rooms with the desperate love she has for Emma. Instead, Regina slides her fingers into Emma’s hair, the silky strands cool against her heated palm as she finally tastes the raw desire that sits on Emma’s lips.

 

Slowly, with caution and care, they kiss like they might break apart at any moment; but caution escapes them when Regina opens her mouth, taking Emma’s bottom lip between her teeth to see what all the fuss is about. She’s allowed the bite for only a moment, Emma’s desire eclipsing her shock as she kisses back with fervour, matching Regina’s languid pace but raising her a swipe of a curious tongue.

 

Stripping away the layer of poise she still holds onto, Regina willingly loses to Emma as they begin another round. This time she puts everything on the table, challenging Emma to match her pace that keeps speeding up, desperate pants and groans of pleasure the only protest she receives in response. It fuels her, makes her feel capable of anything and everything as she pulls Emma impossibly closer, leaving no room for either of them to escape as the kiss becomes messy, and wet, and vulgar enough for Regina to moan out loud.

 

When she can’t keep up, when her lips feel numb and still buzz with the most erotic feeling, Regina considers taking them both to the cabin for whatever may come next, but Emma doesn’t budge from her position. Lips, teeth, and tongue all work together along Regina’s jaw and down to her neck, where the sensation makes her roll her eyes to the back of her head. She won’t make it anywhere if Emma continues, and if she stops… well, Regina still has that twinge in her back that still keeps her pressed against the tree regardless.

 

“ _Emma_ ,” she calls, trying to be the reasonable one and stop this before it escalates, but the look that Emma gives her when she finally pulls back makes everything else fall away. There’s an entire wedding party a few metres away, an ex-wife she can’t bring herself to forgive, and the ticking timebomb on this relationship that could go off at any moment, but it doesn’t matter, and maybe it never has. “What do you need?” Regina finds herself asking instead, palming Emma’s cheeks to keep her calm, thumbs stroking across the heated flesh to keep her grounded.

 

Rough tumbles and quick unsatisfying fucks are what Regina thinks must be in Emma’s sexual history. Regina will not allow herself to be treated as such, even if it means working through the pain between her shoulder blades and taking charge of this situation—but Emma kisses her once more, desperate and needy before she begins to lower herself to her knees on the hard, compact earth. “What are you doing?” Regina hisses, not ready for a proposal.

 

“Devouring you.” The answer is so simple, so startlingly raw that Regina can do no more than watch as Emma reaches through the slit in her dress to grab her leg, wincing when the leftover bark on Emma’s hands scrapes against her skin. She ought to stop this, to say something about hygiene and semi-public settings, but Emma has already begun to kiss her way up Regina’s leg, hands dusting themselves on the black blazer that browns with dirt before they return to their spot around Regina’s calf.

 

Up, up, Emma’s lips go, hands massaging as they follow; ankle, calf, knee, thigh—

 

Panicked, Regina blurts out, “I’m not clean down there,” causing Emma’s ministrations to stop. This isn’t the romantic sexual experience she had wanted. There was supposed to be rose petals on the bed and candles lit along the edge of the room, a slow reveal of skin as they touch and taste with a languid pace—but instead Regina gets an outdoor escapade that she’s always wanted to try but never been brave enough to ask for. “I mean,” she continues, avoiding eye contact with Emma, “I didn’t expect— it’s not… _groomed_.”

 

Technically she had trimmed down there last week, but she hasn’t kept that area in the condition she used to when she had been married, and now Emma looks at her like _that_ with— “Oh my God,” Emma breathes, “oh my God.” And then she’s kissing up Regina’s thigh again, moaning as she pushes the heavy gown up to accommodate her. Regina can’t _breathe_ , can’t make her hand move to help Emma when she’s pinned against the tree with a very eager woman between her legs. Her dress refuses to budge, draping over Emma’s shoulder like a cape and most likely shielding her from the view of anyone who might look— but _Regina_ can see, she can see down Emma’s blazer to her cleavage, the sight making her mouth water.

 

She’s about to call Emma back up, to suggest that they find somewhere more comfortable, but something wet slides against her _there_ over thin fabric that proves to only stimulate Regina further. Biting back her gasp of surprise, Regina glares at Emma who responds with a hooded gaze, daring her to stop as she takes another lick, this one firmer, purposeful as it glides over the fabric and then _under_ it.

 

This time the moan escapes her, her head thumping back against the bark of the tree as Emma gives her no time to adjust to the feeling of being touched so intimately. Emma is everywhere at once, gliding over places and swirling around others, leaving Regina a panting mess as she unconsciously rocks her hips into the maddening warmth. There is no other sound that comes out of her mouth, Regina never one for loud displays of pleasure, but Emma seems to take this as a challenge, testing spots and moving away when it elicits only an adequate response.

 

They have never fooled around for Emma to know her so intimately, nor have they built this moment up with enough foreplay for Regina to crumble at the seams at the first touch, but just when Regina thinks this is a lost cause, Emma finds the perfect pattern.

 

“Don’t,” Regina warns in a whisper; the straining tendons in her neck, the trembling of her thighs, the shallowness of each breath giving her away. “You wouldn’t dare,” she breathes, her arousal only growing when Emma pulls back, a wet smirk on her face. She doesn’t give Regina more than that, returning to her task with a three-speed setting.

 

 _Inside,_ up, flick, suck. _Inside,_ up, flick, suck.

 

Fast, faster, faster, _slow_.

 

Regina can’t think, can’t feel beyond this carnal urge that has her reach down, hand trailing over messy curls and a soft ear, down over heated cheeks and to finally press her palm against a working jaw that moves with her, the vibrations against her fingertips from Emma’s soft moans making her groan out in pleasure. All hope lost, all pretence of ever being in charge falls away, and Regina finally gives in to what her body really wants.

 

Arching against the tree, head thrown back and hips moving in tight circles, Regina makes her demands. “Stay,” she groans out painfully, “ _inside_.” Emma doesn’t disappoint, pushing her tongue as deep into Regina as it can go, stilling for only a moment to allow Regina a groan of pleasure, and then Regina feels herself being thoroughly fucked.

 

It becomes difficult to breathe, to think, to feel beyond this moment. The sounds she’s been holding back come out as breathy moans, “ah, ah, ah!” on every exhale, soft, quiet, only for Emma’s ears. Her body becomes stiffer, rigid as her back arches just a little more, the tree pressing against her shoulder blades as her eyes squeeze shut to prolong this feeling. She needs a little more, but her thighs are already tightening around Emma’s head and the pressure on her back grows until her soft moans turn into a surprised, “ _A-ah!_ ” her spine clicking to relieve her of the pain that’s been plaguing her the entire day.

 

It wasn’t an orgasm, but, “ _ohhh_ ,” she groans, reaching blindly for Emma’s hand, it was glorious nonetheless. A moment of satisfaction she allows herself, that warmth from between her legs moving away before she halts Emma’s retreat. Bending down with ease now, Regina braces herself with her free hand on the tree, cataloguing Emma’s dishevelled appearance with pride. “Not yet,” she says, wiping away her arousal from Emma’s face, “just a little more.”

 

Uncharacteristically quiet, Emma doesn’t move until she’s completely satisfied with what she sees. Her efforts seem to double then, Regina flailing as she tries to grab hold of something, _anything_ to steady herself. “ _Emma_ ,” she warns, but Emma doesn’t listen, instead she uses her hands to urge Regina’s hips to move, and Regina is helpless to the sensations that spark up her spine when Emma sucks harshly on her clit.

 

It builds, and builds, hiking further than she’s ever been before, touching places of her personality that doesn’t resonate with the sweet romantic. Here, Regina feels like a goddess, someone made from flesh and blood as she uses Emma’s mouth to bring her up to a crescendo. She can feel it, the start of something unnameable, something that makes her gasp and moan and hold onto Emma for dear life.

 

Regina rasps out, “ _Emma_ ,” but the name holds no weight here, sending her floating higher the more she says it. Trying again, the word broken, Regina holds Emma in place as she frantically moves, “Em- _ma_ ,” she starts, unable to stop, her head on the verge of exploding, “Em-ma— _Ahh_!” And it pops, the bubble bursting, the cliff jumped off of, the orchestra holding the note as Regina allows Emma’s name to turn into a silent scream.

 

Her ears ring afterwards, when her body releases the tension she’s been holding for so long, and her muscles relax. She can’t feel her legs, but she knows they tremble. Somewhere, someone calls her name, but she can’t remember what it is, or where it comes from. There’s a tree behind her, and a comforting presence that pulls her into an embrace, so she holds onto that, allowing this weightlessness to ebb and flow.

 

“Thank you,” Emma breathes into her neck once her senses return, the statement confusing her as she pushes Emma back to properly look at her. Regina’s frown must give her away, because Emma cups her cheek and offers her a watery smile. “For allowing me to see that,” she explains, “God… you are so beautiful.”

 

When she pulls Emma back in for a kiss, slowly regaining her energy as her arousal builds again, Regina makes sure not to aggravate her back—but there isn’t any pain there anymore, her movements fluid and made with ease as she grabs Emma’s hand to take her back to the cabin.

 

She’s not in pain anymore, Regina realises; she’s in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've written something like this, so if there is any advice you'd like to give me on writing such intimate scenes, please don't hesitate to leave a comment.


	9. Travel pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is split into two parts because it got _very_ long. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has patiently stuck by this fic even though I've skipped out on some update weeks (like last week), and when I added in more chapters to this...
> 
> The next chapter is the last one, and it is fully written. That will posted next week to give everyone time to read this one. I hope you enjoy the update!

“You okay?” Regina asks, holding her unbuttoned pyjama top closed across her chest, her bare feet stinging with the cold as she approaches Emma who leans against the porch railing.

 

Emma doesn’t answer, choosing instead to stare out at the view before them that’s shrouded in the grey darkness of the night. Regina doesn’t know what to do— not now at least, not after their time spent together that had started out rough and quick, carnal in all the ways that made Regina re-think her sexual appetites, only for it to turn into something familiar once again. _Soft, slow, loving_. Like an artist Regina had allowed herself to worship Emma’s skin, whispering compliments, and teasing with light giggles that had turned into pleasure filled gasps instead.

 

They had made _love_ , and then Emma had _left_.

 

She tries again, fumbling with the buttons on her shirt as she does them up haphazardly. “Talk to me,” Regina pleads, one hand sliding over Emma’s shoulder to show her silent support.

 

Regina counts the seconds in her head, standing out in the cold as she waits for Emma to acknowledge her. There’s a shadow dancing across Emma’s face from a nearby tree, the hard edges of her features a direct contrast to the softness Regina had only just seen in bed a few minutes ago. She waits, and waits, and then Emma finally speaks. “I don’t know what to _feel_.” The words are said through clenched teeth, pure pain in them as the weight of what they’ve just done settles harshly on Regina’s shoulders.

 

They might’ve remained quiet about it, but their actions are loud, screaming their feelings out into the open with no way to deny them; but this is no time to dwell on things unsaid however, no matter if their silence has spoken for them.

 

“Breathe,” Regina instructs, gently placing her palms on Emma’s cheeks. There’s more to them now, to this relationship that they’ve stuck and ripped off labels from— and yet somehow it feels like there’s a little less, like whatever Regina is so fond of twisting into knots has become cruelly simple. Licking her lips, a panicked exhale the only outward show of unrest, Regina asks, “do you want me to leave?” thumbing away warm tears that begin to fall from Emma’s eyes.

 

With a shake of her head, Emma unwittingly makes Regina’s heart soar. This isn’t running away, where Emma leaves after every one-night stand and never looks back— this is something _more_ than that, something that Regina breathes out a relieved smile at.

 

“Come inside,” she whispers, as if speaking any louder might break this tentative trust they’ve built, the one that they’ve stripped away with their clothes, and the lack of which leaves them naked to each other in more ways than one. Smoothing her hands down Emma’s rumpled blazer, the action affectionate and yearning, she adds, “I’ll make us a fire and we can just sit together, okay?”

 

A troubled frown remains etched between Emma’s eyes even as she nods her agreement, the crease deepening when Regina sets her on the couch and moves back. Crouching in front of the fireplace to do as she had promised, Regina worries that something else might be going on, but she focuses on the fire until it is high enough to be left on its own, the flames casting shadows along the walls as they flicker and dance. The night isn’t cold enough to warrant it, but Regina drags a blanket from the bedroom nonetheless, draping it across Emma’s lap to provide her with something to hide under should she need it.

 

“Stay,” Emma whispers, cold fingers wrapping around Regina’s wrist to tug her down onto the couch, pulling her close enough that they’re pressed against each other, too warm as Emma unfolds the blanket to encase them both.

 

It’s Regina who wants to run now, to breathe in deep breaths and figure out why she feels uncomfortable in Emma’s presence despite having been naked and writhing in pleasure together not so long ago. Perhaps it’s the shame from being so rough in the beginning, or too hasty regarding such intimacy that has this sense of dread creep up into her spine and refuse to budge. “I’m sorry,” she blurts out, unable to deal with this awkwardness any longer. “I was rough and demanded things from you that I… it’s not like me. If I hurt you in any way—”

 

“You didn’t,” Emma interrupts, shifting closer, “you knew what you wanted and asked for it. I respect that.” Regina still wants to argue her point, to properly decide whether she was the cause for Emma’s tears, but she doesn’t have time to _think_ when Emma’s lips press against hers again, kissing her with a know-how that can only come from the knowledge gained in their earlier escapades. The kiss becomes urgent, led by Emma who tugs her along until Regina finds herself straddling Emma’s lap, those kisses moving from lips to jaw to neck quicker than Regina can breathe.

 

This is fast, _too_ fast for Regina to comprehend. One moment Emma is crying, and the next they’re making out on the couch? _No_. “Stop,” Regina breathes, pushing at Emma’s chest, “Emma, you need to stop.” She tries again, this time putting a little more force into the push until Emma bounces back against the couch. The shocked expression on Emma’s face doesn’t deter Regina from her position on this matter, nor does it stop her from climbing off from Emma’s lap to stand with her hands crossed over her chest instead. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I won’t know, and I can’t help you.”

 

Frustrated, perhaps in more ways than one, Regina waits for Emma to gather the courage she needs to answer her questions. The fire spits behind her, hisses and licks the wood that begins to smoke when Emma takes too long. Eventually, as if she’s speaking around a lump in her throat, Emma answers with a shine to her eyes that can’t be blamed on the little smoke that disappears through the open kitchenette window. “I don’t know what comes next. After we—I mean… I usually leave. I don’t know what to do afterwards.” Her voice a mere rasp that makes Regina’s frown deepen, Emma looks up with so much loss in her expression, that Regina can’t help but drop her hands to her sides, her body language open and welcoming once again.

 

 _Of course_ Emma doesn’t know what comes next, of course her experiences with such things are different— and Regina feels shame wash over her at narrowing this to something she herself might’ve done, rather than something bigger than the both of them. Wiping her hands down her face, Regina kneels in front of Emma, taking both her hands into a delicate hold. If Emma doesn’t want to leave, if she doesn’t know what comes next, then her actions earlier that might’ve instigated another round of intimacy makes sense. Regina can’t be angry, she can’t do more than feel grateful that someone she loves might very well love her back. “We do whatever we want,” she answers. “If you want to get dressed and go on that hiking trail again, I’m here. If you want to swim or tell me bad jokes, or— or sit silently… I am going to be here if you want me to.”

 

Her fingers are squeezed back, held so tightly that Regina fears they might break off, but she doesn’t complain, doesn’t do anything more than wait for Emma. “I want to be with you,” she hears in response; soft, quiet, unsure. It’s more than enough for Regina, ample permission for her to lean up and press a chaste kiss to Emma’s lips as a seal of her promise.

 

“I have marshmallows that we didn’t eat in our hiking bag. Do you want to roast them on the fire?”

 

Starting off small, like a child being offered a toy that they aren’t sure they should take, Emma’s smile grows until it’s recognisable enough, that dimple deepening as the shadows move from her face, the fire dulling into something calm.

 

…

 

The half empty bag of marshmallows sits unattended by the fire, two forks haphazardly set atop the plastic as Regina cradles Emma in her arms. She doesn’t quite know how Emma had gone from laughing about their burnt marshmallows, to giving out sticky kisses when they were roasted just right, to resting her head on Regina’s shoulder in contentment. The blanket that Regina brought from the bedroom is draped around their shoulders, cocooning them in warmth even as the fire threatens to melt Regina’s face off with the intensity of its simmering heat, but she doesn’t budge, too afraid to jostle Emma who sighs blissfully.

 

“Thank you,” Emma says, sounding muffled when she speaks against Regina’s shoulder.

 

Her fingers threading through Emma’s curls still at that comment. “For?” Regina finds herself asking, resuming her ministrations that seem to calm Emma down, the arms around her waist tightening as Emma shifts even closer.

 

She expects something along the lines of _thank you for this weekend_ or _thank you for not being a serial killer_ , but Emma’s, “—for being my friend,” renders her breathless instead. Looking down, Emma’s face now turned up to meet her eyes, Regina’s heart quickens its pace, beating as the fear of everything chokes her from inside out. Emma looks at her with raw intensity, stripping away everything to leave her bare; and Regina fears for what she might find, for what might be lacking, and what might be swimming too close to the surface.

 

Fixed securely on her lips, Regina holds a smile up in place, her palm pressing against Emma’s cheek in acknowledgement, whilst her throat constricts around the words that might reveal her true feelings. “And I’m sorry,” Emma continues in a whisper, heedless of Regina’s internal struggle, “for the way I reacted earlier… I was—”

 

“It’s fine,” Regina interrupts, unwilling to hear an explanation that might make her frantic heart more obvious than it already is. “You’re allowed to feel whatever you need to. Sex doesn’t automatically fix everything.”

 

A curious look is sent her way, Emma shifting her position to sit upright instead, their gazes levelling. Regina’s hand remains in Emma’s hair, connecting them as Emma leans forward on her palms to lessen the gap between them. “But it was a good attempt, wasn’t it?” she asks, so confident, that all too familiar smirk on her face.

 

The answer sits on her tip of her tongue, a teasing _yes_ that could lend a hand into this flirtation, but Regina remains quiet, gaze dropping down onto the floor instead. It’s such an errant thought, but it chews down into her stomach until she sighs, swallowing thickly to rid herself of the guilt that sits in her throat. She tries, her mouth opening to provide some sort of answer, but nothing comes out, and Emma’s playful expression quickly turns into a frown.

 

“I was supposed to woo you,” Regina splutters, “I was supposed to be the hopeless romantic seducing you with flowers and gifts, and candlelit dinners—but _you_ were the one doing everything.” She shouldn’t be so angry about it, feeling as if she hadn’t earned Emma’s touch, but Regina can’t help it. “It isn’t _fair_.”

 

It’s uncalled for, this rumbustious laughter that makes Emma throw her head back, neck stretching as she pulls herself forward again to rest her forehead on Regina’s shoulder. Emma chokes on her laugh, coughing through her tears as she continues to giggle at Regina’s confession. “And—” she breathes out, wheezing as she bangs her fist against her chest to splutter out the last of her cough, “and what do you call this then? Us, a fire, marshmallows, me in your arms?”

 

She’s pouting, her lips pursed, and eyebrows pulled into a frown, but Regina can’t seem to stop her face from looking like a toddler whose toys were confiscated. Her ideas of romance used to be grander, laced with loving words and declarations of undying love, but _this_ isn’t it. Breathing in, the scent of Emma intoxicating, Regina pushes away her expectations of romance, and casts aside the idea of nothing being good enough. The feeling sinks in, melting away cages of appropriateness and breaking down walls of compromise.

 

“I lied,” Regina whispers, “I’m not a romantic that will ravish you senseless and then drive you to the middle of nowhere to watch the sunrise. That’s… that’s a romantic from the movies, and I’m not—” Biting her bottom lip, a humourless smile on her face as she turns her gaze to the fire, Regina mindlessly chews on the flesh until Emma’s fingers pull her lip out from her teeth.

 

“Don’t do that,” Emma says, thumb gliding across her glistening lip, her words teasing as she scolds Regina who has somehow managed to pick up that bad habit from Emma. “Then tell me, what type of a romantic are you?”

 

She’s _challenged_ , dared to find out what she wants and how she wants it, forcing her to be selfish in the now instead dancing to the tunes of others to please them in whatever way she can. Sitting before Emma in her underwear and a pyjama top she buttoned up wrong, everything that has been pushed aside comes rushing back, logic and reason floating away with the dissipating smoke from the fire, replaced instead with raw emotion.

 

Breathing hard, her hand falls from Emma’s face to sit in her lap instead. Overwhelmed with an overload of feelings, Regina delicately tries to sort through them all, her eyes tracing Emma’s features with a softness she had thought herself incapable of. “The type that marvels at how your hair glows in the sun,” she finds herself saying, her voice rough and gravely, like it hasn’t been used for years. “It looks like it’s on fire, just…” The lump in her throat prevents her from saying more, but Emma’s hand reaches out for her, squeezing her fingers as she swallows past it.

 

“I’m the type of romantic that notices that you bite your lip when you’re nervous, that you lick them when you’re going to say something important. You have a dimple on your left cheek that that’s faint, but when you’re smug it somehow deepens—and I’ve hated that dimple because it usually means you’re right, but when you won an argument your chest puffs out, and your shoulders straighten, and you look… you look _powerful_. You _are_ powerful.” Regina can feel herself speaking too fast, her upper body leaning forward into Emma as her voice grows in strength, the tone low and strumming with something that’s been set free.

 

She doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want the look of complete shock to disappear from Emma’s face, so Regina continues. “You won’t blink an eyelid at the mention of sex, but you blush when someone calls you pretty, and Gods, you are _gorgeous_. You are beautiful when you’re angry, when you narrow your eyes and cross your arms across your chest, and your voice sounds like it can cut through everything—and when you _laugh_?” she breathes, exhales as if the thought of Emma throwing her head back with her eyes closed in such a state leaves her breathless, “I want do obscene things to hear you laugh, even if it’s at my expense. I want—I want to read books out loud to you and hear your opinions on them even if they’re different from mine, to taste every flavour of tea with you and find our favourite, to—to dance with you, and listen to you, and cook with you, and—and—”

 

And she can’t say anymore, can’t find the words to express how utterly _gone_ she is on Emma. Truthfully, Regina wants to sob, because this isn’t what she had wanted to say, nor is it anything resembling acts of romance, but Emma looks at her open mouthed, eyes blown wide, and Regina thinks she must’ve broken something.

 

“Those are,” Emma starts, clearing her throat to continue, “those are everyday things.” _Everyday things_ , she says, and from anyone else it might’ve sounded insulting, but Emma says it with such reverence that Regina can’t help but gape. Struggling, lips moving but no sound coming out, Regina watches as Emma tries to say more. What else is there to say, honestly? Short of _I love you_ , perhaps Regina had said it all, and Emma doesn’t look entirely ready to hear that last bit so soon.

 

Lips pursed together to stop herself from saying more than she needs to, Regina takes in a deep breath through her nose. “This is… too much, I know. I shouldn’t ha—”

 

Emma cuts her off with a sharp look, her eyes rimmed red. “Don’t,” she grits out, “don’t take this away from me.” She sounds mature, aged beyond Regina when she longs for such simple romance. Unable to help herself, to stop her hands from reaching out, Regina cups both of Emma’s cheeks in her palms, watching how Emma melts at her touch.

 

She rasps out an, “I’m sorry,” her hands slipping from Emma’s face as Regina allows herself to fall backwards onto the carpet, gaze lifting to the ceiling as she apologises for too much. She’s sorry for not allowing herself the novelty of a new attraction, she’s sorry for this weekend that has been more about an ex-wife and divorce she should have let go of a long time ago, and Regina is mostly sorry for not showing Emma how much she means to her in the limited time they have together.

 

Perhaps, if they had continued without this arrangement, and Regina’s feeble excuses to call Emma just to speak to her had grown organically from there, things might’ve been different; cleaner, slower, and laced with the time and opportunity to turn her living room into a garden for their first proper date— amongst other gestures of grandeur. Maybe Regina is just sorry for rushing things when they hadn’t been entirely ready for this.

 

Following her, one hand on either side of her head as Emma braces herself to hover above Regina, she says, “you don’t have to be,” in a reassuring whisper.

 

Maybe, there’s more to that statement than Regina can delve into now, too many layers being put back on as Emma stubbornly braces herself on her arms, warmth from her body a tease that Regina doesn’t get to touch. Delicately, with the tips of her fingers, like this action is forbidden and should be kept secret, Regina traces Emma’s face. She maps Emma’s nose, her cheeks, her jaw, and all the places that she hasn’t had the time to properly appreciate. For some reason, her exploring hands are allowed to go wherever they wish, given permission to slowly push the blazer off Emma’s shoulders and stroke her palms down over the dip in Emma’s back until the blazer snags on pointed elbow joints.

 

“Do you want me to…?” Emma asks, her eyes dropping down between their bodies. Regina doesn’t want _that_ however, and subtly shakes her head as she continues her gentle strokes across Emma’s skin.

 

“Sleep with me,” she requests instead, dragging Emma down by her shoulders, arms encircling her into an embrace as Regina adjusts herself on the floor. They’ve been sharing the same bed for so long, attempts upon attempts to solve Regina’s insomnia, that it comes easy now for her to tangle her fingers in Emma’s hair, sighing when she feels soft breaths against the crook of her neck. The stroking continues with reverence, their fingers intertwining when Regina brings Emma’s hand up to her lips to kiss her knuckles— and perhaps this is the sort of quiet romance that Regina had always wanted.

 

Time passes without Regina’s knowledge, ticking away as her actions become more lethargic. Emma hasn’t said a word since they settled down on the floor together, seemingly content to rest her ear on Regina’s beating heart—although, when Regina looks down, Emma’s eyes are closed, her breathing deep and even as she sleeps like nothing bothers her. It would be a sin to wake her up, to watch the serenity from Emma’s face disappear behind a mask of hardness, but Regina knows that the clothes Emma had hastily pulled on must be uncomfortable to sleep in, and the least she can do is move them to the bed where they can rest together in their pyjamas like a functional couple.

 

Regina shakes Emma’s shoulder gently, trying to rouse her with the soft call of, “ _Emma_.” It does nothing more than make Emma burrow further into her chest, sighing happily as Regina shifts. Trying again, this time with a firmer tone that doesn’t sound like a lullaby, Regina pushes at Emma’s arms to get her to loosen her grip. “Emma you have to get up and change. We can’t sleep on the floor—”

 

The arm around her waist tightens, pulling her further into an embrace as Emma sighs. “ _hm_ ,” she groggily hums into Regina’s neck, kissing the skin there softly, “love you.”

 

Whatever plans Regina might’ve had to be practical are thrown out the window, her heart beating twice its speed as she pauses her breathing to keep as still as possible. She doesn’t know why she does it, why she has to widen her eyes, listen intently, and feel with her whole body the words she’s sure she must’ve heard wrong— she _must_ have, yes? But everything Emma has done for her so far seems to hold weight to her sleepy confession.

 

Closing her eyes to imprint the words into her mind, the memory committed to heart, Regina internally squeals. The hope for this relationship lasting longer than its allocated time is discarded however, not unless Emma specifically mentions it, but for now, Regina allows this joy to linger. It sits in her chest, beating away with new life as it lulls her into a state between awake and asleep; the same mindset she had wanted to achieve when she first met Emma, where her intentions then had been to turn over in bed and be fooled into believing it was Mal—but now Regina tries to fight off her sleep, unwilling to give up this image of Emma nestled within her arms.  

 

Sleeping on the floor with uncomfortable clothing be damned, Regina holds Emma closer to her as the embers of the fire gives off its unwavering heat. The blissful pull of sleep doesn’t seem daunting now, nor it does it make her jitter with the vulnerability such a state might leave her in. And perhaps she had been trying too hard to push herself into being ready to move on, but when Regina allows sleep to win this time, she does so with a smile.

 

:::

 

Regina barely manages to tie the bow on her silk blouse, the fabric a light blush colour that matches nicely with her pointed heels that are partially hidden by her white dress pants. There had been no time to dress up in anything else, not with her hair in ruffled curls that had thankfully fixed itself under the steam of the shower this morning, and—well, practically everything in the bedroom had been destroyed because of their escapades before they fell asleep in front of the fire yesterday, and whatever she had found first had to do the job.

 

Clasping her earring into place, Regina snatches her purse from the kitchenette nook and jogs down to where Victor waits with the golf cart. Emma stands beside him, chatting about something mundane, and Regina is almost embarrassed at the butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the sight of Emma in a white summer dress, pink earrings glinting in the morning sun as Emma turns to stare right back at her. Suddenly shy, her gaze dropping to the floor only to find Emma’s again, Regina lifts herself up onto a seat and pretends to be unaffected by that smirk tugging on Emma’s lips.

 

“You look absolutely stunning,” Emma whispers in her ear, and Regina knows Emma long enough not to smile like a teenager with a crush, not to turn her head just to catch a glimpse of Emma only to blush and look away when she’s caught— but she does it anyway, and Regina doesn’t care what people might think.

 

It feels as if she’s been given permission to feel this way again for someone who isn’t Mal; to find herself unable to stop staring, to yearn for a simple touch, to feel her nerves spark with anticipation at the mere scent of her lover. Regina has never felt so _free_ , and finds herself looking unapologetically at Emma again, tracing her outline and cataloguing the way her eyes sparkle when she finds herself being watched. “I can’t explain how beautiful you look… words won’t do you justice.”

 

Laughing at this, Emma finally reaches out to hold Regina’s hand who sighs happily at the contact. She doesn’t say anything in response, but a smile remains on her face even as she presses her lips to Regina’s softly, the kiss sweet and lingering. It shouldn’t be fair as to how Regina wants more, how one kiss can make her feel as if she’s floating, electricity sparking across her skin as everything within her awakens.

 

Much too soon, the golf cart comes to a stop, and Regina is jerked forward when Emma tugs playfully on her hand, a knowing smile on Emma’s face when she grumbles at having to move. Led down a few stairs to enter the hidden estuary, Regina’s eyes widen at the arrangements made for the final breakfast before the guests leave. “This place is amazing,” Emma breathes, looking up and around at the low hanging branches of the trees, down to the mouth of a river that flows effortlessly through all the greenery. Spellbound— no longer at their surroundings, but rather at Emma’s reactions to it, Regina helplessly follows as Emma’s fingers flex within her hold, dragging her here and there with an excitable expression on her face.

 

Things blur, and people become nameless, faceless beings after that, her eyes only for Emma who is eventually pulled away by a few friends she’s made this weekend. She feels jealousy burning in the pit of her stomach as she watches them chat to Emma, not because she feels threatened, but because they get to speak to her lover, to hear her laugh and smile, and watch how her hair shifts in the breeze.

 

Marian, who arrived in a bubble of newlywedded bliss, now stands beside Regina with a glass of orange juice in her hand, talking a mile a minute about Robin and things Regina doesn’t quite catch. Too busy searching for Emma in the crowd of people, she almost misses Marian’s exasperated sigh. “What?” Regina asks innocently, struggling to keep her gaze locked on Marian when it keeps straying.

 

Pointing toward a cluster of people, Regina following the finger as if it’s a lifeline, Marian huffs out, “there she is,” and throws her hands up in the air when Regina’s smile splits her face in two. Emma looks up at her, smiling back as they simply gaze upon each other lovingly. Regina could do this for an eternity, and almost manages to achieve it, but Marian bumps her shoulder to draw her attention back, breaking her shameless ogling. “Disgusting,” she says, sipping on her orange juice, “absolutely…”

 

“Disgusting?” Regina laughs, poking her friend in the shoulder as Marian blushes and giggles when Robin winks at her from afar. “I can see that.”

 

“Oh, hush you.” Swatting at Regina’s shoulder, Marian finishes off her orange juice and sets the glass down on a nearby table. “We’re newlyweds, we’re _allowed_ to be disgusting. Besides, he’s been teasing me this entire time— can you believe he won’t touch me until we go on our honeymoon?”

 

Regina can’t help it, laughter spilling out of her in waves as she clutches onto Marian’s arm to steady herself. “I can’t,” she wheezes, wiping beneath her eyes. She can laugh now, tease and poke Marian about her marriage without the weight of a broken one on her shoulders; this weekend panning out to be much better than a field of landmines she had expected from it. For everything she’s gone through, Regina certainly received a few gifts from her pain, even if it might only turn out to be memories in the end.

 

Turning on instinct toward Emma at the thought, she catches a smile on pink lips that might suggest Emma had been watching her too. It makes her feel giddy, pulling her up on a high that makes her do foolish things. Lips puckered, Regina kisses the air in the direction of Emma, not caring if she looks ridiculous— but Regina is delighted beyond reason when Emma catches the kiss within her fist, laughing as she holds it close to her chest.

 

“ _Disgusting_ ,” Marian mutters under her breath, chuckling when Regina shoves her playfully.

 

:::

 

It’s the early afternoon by the time they walk back to the cabin, their shoes held in their hands and their fingers intertwined. Marian had been given a teary send off, glasses raised in toast and teasing comments made by family members to which they had all laughed. It felt nostalgic to see her best friend married and happy, to watch as the weekend came to a close, and the guests slowly making their way back to pack up all their things.

 

Emma must be feeling the same, because instead of getting on the golf cart, she had tugged on Regina’s hands and silently asked to walk. That’s how Regina now finds herself sweating under the unforgiving sun, her legs burning as she walks up the small hill that seems to go on forever. “We should have taken the golf cart,” she breathes, stopping for a moment to catch her breath.

 

“I just wanted to spend more time with you,” Emma confesses softly, dropping her shoes down onto the ground to plonk herself beside it. Regina nearly has an aneurism at the sight of Emma’s white dress against the grass, thinking of the stain it might leave, but when she’s faced with a pout and sparkling eyes, Regina is helpless but to sit next to Emma on the ground.

 

No matter what she wants to say, to reassure Emma that they have enough time, it isn’t going to make a difference if Emma decides that this weekend is still more than enough for them. One arm circling Emma’s waist, a kiss pressed to a rosy cheek with a slow inhale of defeat, Regina resigns herself to this moment, committing it to memory as Emma leans against her with the view of the estuary below them.

 

…

 

She had never imagined packing to be such an exhausting task. They check, re-check, triple check to see if anything has been left behind, and yet Regina still manages to leave her phone in the cabin— “found it! It was in my bag for some reason.” So maybe just a scare then.

 

“How did we end up with more things than we brought over?” Regina asks, pulling out one of her coats to allow the damn suitcase to zip up. Helping Victor heave up the luggage onto the trolley, Regina huffs as Emma stands behind her with all those muscles doing _nothing_. Snapping around to bark orders at Emma, Regina’s eyebrows shoot up when she catches Emma’s gaze lingering inappropriately too far down. “If you’re done ogling my ass, can you give me a hand?”

 

Power thrums through her veins when Emma jumps into action, her cheeks red as she tries to hide her embarrassment behind another suitcase. All Regina can do is smirk victoriously, rewarding herself by doing what she had just reprimanded Emma for.

 

Aghast, Emma asks, “who’s ogling now?!”

 

Rolling her eyes, Regina drapes the coat over her arm, ginning smugly at Emma. “Please dear, I’ve done my work, now I reap the rewards. You want to ogle? Get your chores out of the way first.”

 

If she walks ahead with a little more sway to her hips, then the muttered, “you’re an evil, _evil_ woman,” from Emma is worth every awkward step.

 

Before them looms the car, the boot being packed, and a few snacks placed in the backseat for their journey. Other guests hover around the driveway waiting for their vehicles to be brought forward, most of them hugging each other as they say their goodbyes. Regina doesn’t want to leave yet, not entirely satisfied with how she had spent her time this weekend. She had made progress with Emma, the two of them leaving as far more to each other than when they arrived, but it had taken too long to get there in Regina’s opinion, and whatever she was given seems wasted now. Perhaps if she asked Emma for more time…

 

Turning, Emma’s name on her lips, Regina collides with someone who isn’t her lover, someone she doesn’t want to see ever again. “I don’t want to talk,” she snaps, stepping back.

 

Mal looks at her with her hands raised in surrender, a sad smile on her face. “Just an accident,” she says sincerely, reaching down to pull her suitcase out of the way. “But—” she starts, and Regina wants to groan in frustration because her time at the resort cannot end with being angry at Mal. “I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you yesterday. I was… out of line on a lot of things.” Mal does _not_ fidget, she does not show any weakness. It’s one of the reasons why Mother loved her so much, and to see her ex-wife with her shoulders slouching and her fingers tapping out a rhythm on her suitcase handle… Regina doesn’t know what to do with this information. “I only want you to be happy, and if it means never seeing each other again… then I’ll oblige.”

 

Suspicious, and rightfully so, Regina seeks Emma out who stands just behind Mal, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. “I forgive you,” she finds herself saying, the words coming out of nowhere as a smile breaks out on her face at Emma’s surprised expression. “I mean,” Regina clarifies, turning to look at Mal again, “I forgive myself for ever thinking I was less than, for thinking that whatever happened between us was because of something I did, and for… believing that being a romantic was the same as being selfish.” She wants to laugh, the same lightness bubbling up inside her from when she went swimming in that waterfall, but Regina holds up her finger instead, digging through the coat over her arm with that laughter sitting just within reach.

 

Emptying the pockets, she hands Emma the half eaten lollipop that’s surprisingly not melted through the wrapper, the list of her possible reasons of insomnia, a coin she hadn’t made a wish on, and lastly— “I don’t have to forgive you to move on,” she says, holding out her engagement ring and wedding band to place into the palm of Mal’s hand. “Thank you for the memories of a happy marriage, and I release you from this bond.” She sounds like a priest, but whatever weight she had been carrying lifts entirely, that laugh finally escaping her as she grabs Emma’s hand to lead them to their car.

 

“Fuck, do I love you,” Regina hears Emma say under her breath, the sentiment too quiet to acknowledge without making the situation awkward.

 

:::

 

The drive is quiet, a slow cruise that Regina allows herself the pleasure of as the events of the weekend settle around them. She’s officially ended everything with Mal, earned Emma’s love, successfully navigated through Marian’s wedding, and all but cured her insomnia. So many changes, and yet Regina feels the same.

 

“Want to talk about it?” Emma asks, sitting with her elbow resting against the door, picking at the skin on her thumb. _That’s_ new.  Shaking her head in the negative at the question, Regina speeds up when another car approaches too quickly from behind. An hour goes by like this, with Emma silently contemplating something, her thumb between her teeth as she thinks, and Regina staring straight ahead at the road as the sun glares at her as it sets.

 

She understands now how time could have been wasted, how she could have neglected romancing Emma when so many other things were happening at the same time. Even now, when everything is resolved, the residual hurt still lingers, and Regina wonders how long it will take to fully submerge herself into another relationship again.

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Regina whispers, clutching the steering tightly.

 

Emma perks up at the sound of her voice, thumb out of her mouth and posture straightening as she sits to attention. “It’s okay. You did what you had to do, right?” Whatever goes on inside Emma’s head, Regina doesn’t know, but she can guess from the worried frown on Emma’s face that it can’t be anything good.

 

“I— I just don’t know what to feel.” Overwhelmed perhaps, too many emotions all strumming together as Emma’s quiet confession of love solidifies. Last night she had said it in a state of sleep that could be explained away, but now? It makes Regina want to say it back, to plan for their future and create a checklist that had been destroyed in her last marriage. She can’t go back to that, to being dependent on someone else for her happiness, and it is that thought that makes her uneasy.

 

Fingers wrap around her forearm, holding onto her before she can fall apart. “I’m here,” Emma says seriously.

 

There are a thousand ways to say thank you, but Regina reaches down to press the button for Emma’s window, rolling it all the way down to watch as her hair flies with the wind, a laugh peeling from her lips. What Regina wants to say is _I love you_ , but not yet—not like this.

 

…

 

The half-way stop provides them both with room to stretch, for the comfortable silence that had descended upon them to break for air as they both park in a petrol bay. Emma’s hand still remains on her arm, a warm offer of reassurance that Regina gently removes when the petrol attendant taps on her window to get her attention.

 

“I’ll meet you inside?” Emma asks once Regina has finished her exchange.

 

She says, “sure,” with a nod, masking this need to be by Emma’s side all the time. Regina has always considered herself a selfish lover, but surely this need to be close is bred from something else other than that. Watching Emma go, a small smile on her face as Emma jogs to the café, Regina fumbles around until she produces her phone, the screen lighting up when she switches it on.

 

It’s been an entire weekend of no contact with the outside world, a place where she had been given the opportunity to get to know Emma properly within their bubble of intimacy, and yet Regina had managed to almost screw things up with her fixation on a marriage that had no chance being saved. The phone in her hand rings, vibrating as several notifications of missed calls and messages comes through. She had promised to send Zelena regular updates, but the last time she spoke to her sister had been just as they arrived at the resort, and Regina hadn’t bothered to make contact otherwise.

 

Groaning out her frustration, the messages read and scrolled past, she holds her breath as the one person she doesn’t want to speak to is dialled. “Hello, Mother,” she breathes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

“Oh, so you do own a phone,” her mother greets her with, sounding far too hurt over such a simple matter. Regina can’t help but sigh, the sound travelling with her as she gets out of the car to stretch her legs. “Why do you even give out your number if you never answer it, then?”

 

This is it, Regina thinks, rubbing her palm along her forehead as she exhales a humourless smile. “There was no reception at the resort—”

 

“And they didn’t have a phone anywhere in that large estate that you could have called us with? Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to Zelena’s inane theories on what might’ve happened to you? And what is this I hear about a woman you are sleeping with?” The questions come fast, too quickly for Regina to do more than laugh breathily at. She’s backed into a corner, unwilling to disrespect her mother by challenging her opinions, and still filled with too much pride to be answerable to a woman who she’s been independent from for years.

 

Her card is handed over when the petrol attendant is done, the process quick and painless as she tries to formulate an appropriate response to her mother’s questions. “I was focused on the wedding, Mother, I didn’t have the time to make calls.” Technically that’s true, Regina justifies, getting back into her car to turn the phone on speaker, the engine roaring to life as she drives it toward the parking bay instead. “And I sent Zelena message saying I reached safely— and I’m a grown woman, I can handle myself for a weekend without her babysitting me.”

 

Switched off, her arms too tired to hold the phone to her ear, Cora’s voice booms over the Bluetooth system once the car is properly parked. “You were with a stranger,” she hisses, “someone we know nothing about in your bed. Zelena was telling me you have feelings for this girl? If you wanted someone to help you sleep, darling, why didn’t you use the card I gave you?”

 

Sometimes Regina marvels at how easy it is for Mother to switch from concerned parent to condescending bitch within a sentence. She hates to associate such words with the woman who gave birth to her, but Regina can’t help but make the connection. Where was her mother’s loving support and encouragement when she was wasting away after the divorce? Where was her mother when she didn’t need a professional cuddler, but maybe a shoulder to cry on? It all makes no difference now, but Regina still takes this opportunity to get even.  “Mother, _please_ ,” she scoffs, “this isn’t like you and Daddy. Emma is not a replacement for Mal, and I do not laugh her off as a professional cuddler—”

 

“I do not use Marco as a replacement for your father!” Cora splutters, sounding offended and hurt. Regina knows it’s true, knows the trouble her mother had sleeping when her father had died, and how it had been _managed_ with the introduction of Marco with whom her mother cannot live without. Regina doesn’t have much of an opinion on the man, only having met him twice within the year that her mother has employed his services, but there isn’t any coincidence as to his age, nor the bald spot in about the same place her father had his.

 

Sighing, the action tired and drained, Regina rubs at her temples when this conversation shifts into uncharted waters. “Whatever your reasons are, Mother,” she breathes out, head banging back against the leather of the seat as she closes her eyes, “they are not mine. I… I love Emma, I want—”

 

A sharp intake of breath cuts her short, the passenger door wide open as Emma stands there hunched over with her head inside the car. She had been too slow to react, lost within a daydream of the future as the present rudely barged in. Her lungs burn when she doesn’t take in a breath, the sound of her mother speaking nonsensical things in the background as Regina focuses her attention on Emma who doesn’t move. Maybe Emma didn’t quite hear her properly, maybe this can be salvaged.

 

“— _Love_?!” her mother shrills, Emma’s gaze turning toward the phone even as her body remains eerily still. “How many times have I heard this before, Regina? Be practical, can you really afford to get your heart bro—”

 

If she had to attempt to cut the call under any other circumstance, the Bluetooth would not be refusing to follow her frantic button smashes. “Mother—Mother, I’ve got to go, b-bye.”

 

“Are you cutting me—”

 

 _Off_. The line finally goes dead when Regina manages to switch her phone off completely, sweaty and hot behind the ears as she swallows down a chunk of humiliation. “My mother,” she says in a way of explanation, breathing out a stuttered laugh that makes her look like a geeky student lusting after their attractive professor—which is ironic considering she herself had been on the receiving end of those crushes one too many times.

 

Emma doesn’t offer her an out, her eyes dark and scrutinising as she nods toward the café. “I ordered coffee for us. I didn’t know what you wanted to eat so…”

 

So Emma may have just heard her confession of love and an embarrassing conversation with her mother. “Right,” Regina responds, picking a smile up on her face only for it to fall again, her hands patting the steering awkwardly as she tries to remember what to do next.

 

“You gonna come in or…?” Trailing off, the shine of amusement chasing away the hardness of her expression, Emma presses her lips together to hold of what Regina assumes must be a laugh at her expense.

 

Eyes narrowed, eyebrows raised and a haughty look upon her features, Regina taps her fingers on the steering wheel as if sitting here had been her plan the entire time. “Of course, Miss Swan,” she mocks, “I doubt the waiter will come all the way to the car to give me my food. Besides, I don’t trust your ordering skills.”

 

One eyebrow raised, a smirk on Emma’s lips, and Regina knows that she’s effectively managed to avoid making this situation heavy and awkward. “Oh yeah?” Emma challenges, “well you didn’t exactly allow me the chance to show off my supposed _skills_.”

 

Regina laughs as she jumps out of the car, one arm on the roof of her Mercedes as she speaks to Emma who straightens up on the other side. “Maybe if you enjoyed being bossed around a little less, dear, you would have found an opportunity to…” her eyes drop down to Emma’s figure as she steps away from the car, lust clear in the way her gaze lingers over the clothed form of her lover that had been gloriously naked the night before.

 

Emma’s arm winds around her waist, tugging her closer as the confessions of love are swept under the proverbial carpet. “To…?” Emma urges her on, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

 

This is easy to get lost in, to pretend like she isn’t scared about their future when everything hinges on a delicate balance she can’t upset, so Regina plays along, her fingers coming up to pinch Emma’s cheeks as she presses a sweet kiss to her lips. “To prove that you can order food that won’t kill me,” she teases, barking out a laugh when Emma tickles her sides.

 

This is easy, so easy, and Regina swats at Emma’s hands as they make their way toward the café, too many pairs of eyes watching them behave in a way that would make any couple envious.


	10. Domesticity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take a moment to thank everyone for supporting this story in so many ways, from reading and commenting from chapter 1, to screaming about the updates on twitter, to leaving insightful reviews that have made me redirect this story to be what it is now. Just, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you all so much!

Easy words, easy actions, easy smiles. They only become difficult when the weight of what needs to be hidden starts to grow heavy. Regina has never been strong enough to keep her feelings to herself, and an argument in the rain can attest to that, but fear holds her back this time.

 

They’re on the road again, stomachs full and the journey stretching as Regina tries to stay awake on the monotonous route. Emma’s apartment looms closer with every distance covered, their time together lessening as the evening grows colder and their comfortable silence becomes stifling. She feels like it’s being wasted away, Emma’s presence spent on her quiet breathing and the scent of her bodywash that lingers in the air—and if Regina had the time to appreciate such things, she wouldn’t demand so much more from this, but the road stretches on and her eyes burn from keeping them open.

 

“When we first met,” she rasps out, clearing her throat to continue, “I thought you were a prostitute.”

 

Maybe she wants to get a rise out of Emma, to fight so that their last hours together become bearable when they have to part, but Emma laughs at her statement instead of fighting it. Her elbow rests on her open window, her hair flying in the wind as she closes her eyes and throws her head back. She looks beautiful, Regina observes, sighing happily. “I thought you were a customer,” Emma giggles, and no matter how true that statement might be, Regina still manages to glare at her. “I mean, until you chewed my head off for approaching you. I knew you were there for another reason, I just… didn’t know what, and I really, _really_ wanted to know.”

 

“Is that why you stalked me?” Regina asks, eyes widening as she glances at Emma before turning her attention back to the road.

 

She shifts, leaning forward until Regina can feel Emma’s body heat against her side. “I may have went out for drinks with friends that first night,” Emma admits in a whisper, “but the moment I saw you…I knew I had to go back in case you came around again.”

 

Regina can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips, the heat of a blush that dusts her cheeks pink. Emma had admitted this immediate attraction before, but it feels meaningful now, worth more than something common. This isn’t the precipice that might make Regina openly confess her love or ask for more time, but this moment is precious enough that she finds herself punching in a new location on the GPS, a frown etched between her eyes as she mentally maps out her route.

 

“Such a charmer,” she says drily, pushing Emma back against her seat as laughter fills the car once again. The reasons that Regina had parked in that dingy street a topic she is too emotionally exhausted to discuss.

 

Taking an exit, the road unfamiliar and yet recognisable in the dark, Regina watches as Emma sits up a little straighter in her seat at the sight of it. This time the roads are dry, and Regina drives without much difficulty until she parks them amongst rows and rows of cars, the sound of a lively carnival filling the space between them.

 

“Where are we?” Emma asks, hope threatening to break free in her voice, disbelief evident in the way she looks at Regina—and honestly, Regina just wants to kiss her, to rewrite that time spent arguing in this very parking lot into something better, but she’ll need rain for that, and Regina would very much like to remain dry.

 

Opening her door to jump out, her coat pulled over her clothes as the chilly evening air causes goosebumps to erupt across her skin, Regina invites Emma outside with an encouraging nod. “Come on,” she urges, opening Emma’s door for her to step out, a reassuring smile on her face as she takes Emma’s hand. Emma looks like a child taking in the wonders of this place, believing in its magic even if it’s science and exorbitant prices set by those who need to make money.

 

It’s a nice night, clear skies and just the right temperature for families mill about with toffee apples and candyfloss beards, laughing and joking with each other as they spend too much on silly games. It’s the type of place Regina feels at home in, with Emma’s hand in hers and a very appealing cider stand nearby. Whatever turbulent emotions had been festering inside seems to calm, Regina content as she looks to Emma who takes everything in with awe, her eyes settling on something with unrestrained longing.

 

Following her line of sight, Regina comes face to face with the biggest Teddy she has ever seen. The stand has a plastic crossbow and three tiers of metal cans, everyone trying their luck to knock it down, but the plastic arrow shoots in odd directions and the slightest of breezes seem to change its course. “That’s daylight robbery,” she comments, nodding at the stand.

 

“It’s a good challenge for a reasonable prize,” Emma argues, shrugging her shoulders like she hasn’t just been drooling over the Teddy.

 

Trying not to scrunch her face up in disagreement, Regina squeezes Emma’s hand and squares her shoulders. She’s getting that unfortunately large teddy for Emma, even if it takes all of her pride and most of her money. A bill is slapped down on the table before Emma can protest, that plastic crossbow in her hand as she aims for the cans.

 

One shot down and the arrow goes too far up. Two shots down and the arrow goes too far left, the third—

 

“Hold it like this,” Emma instructs, hands adjusting Regina’s grip on the crossbow to tilt it down, the warmth from her body making Regina shiver pleasantly as the third and final shot is fired, hitting three of the six cans.

 

Three isn’t enough, and she almost sets down another bill when the man behind the counter hands her a medium sized panda with a blue ribbon around its neck. “Here ya go,” he says kindly, holding out his hand for the crossbow that she still clutches weakly in her grip.

 

“Is that a _panda_?!” is screeched into her ears, Regina dropping the crossbow into the man’s awaiting hand in shock as she jerks back to make space between Emma and herself. Helpless, with the panda clutched between her hands, she’s attacked by a young woman who apparently loves pandas, enough that Regina’s mouth goes numb from the fierce kiss that Emma gives her.

 

Whispered, the word, “ _wow_ ,” escapes her, the panda handed over without complaint to Emma who hugs it to her chest, a pleased smile on her face. She _could_ have fun with Emma, tease her that she had won the panda for herself, but Emma looks so happy that Regina grabs her free hand again, leading them down toward isles of food that she would never eat otherwise.

 

They pass the popcorn stand, the toffee apple stand, and they almost pass the candy floss stand when Emma tugs her hand to stand in the line. “Regina?” Emma asks in a quiet voice, “why did you bring me here?”

 

Regina doesn’t have a proper answer, not one that might be simple and easy to understand, so she tugs Emma along with the moving line, offering her a small sigh and a smile. “I want to spend more time with you,” she answers sadly, knowing that the elastic band might snap if she pulls on it too hard. It doesn’t help that the mood dips into something sombre, Regina unable to cheer herself up when the thought that their time together might come to an end soon sticks to the back of her mind. She wants more, more than she can possibly handle at this time, but more than nothing at least.

 

The candy floss is bought and in Emma’s hand before Regina can pay, Emma simply shrugging as she breaks off a piece to hold it out to her. Boldly taking the candy floss into her mouth, tongue darting around Emma’s fingers, Regina hums happily at the taste, leaving Emma standing behind her in shock as she continues walking forward. “Ferris wheel?” she asks over her shoulder, fondly gazing at Emma who finally moves into action, that open mouthed stare shifting from Regina up to the Ferris wheel that had looked so devastatingly haunted the last time they were here.

 

Emma’s hand slips into hers again, holding on tightly as they wait in the queue, the candy floss broken and shared between them. Perhaps, she shouldn’t have thought about the end so soon, because she wants to talk about nothing else, and this isn’t the best time to beg for a relationship in the middle of a carnival with too many witnesses. Thinking of anything else to say, topics come to mind as they stand in silence, each one dismissed as unworthy as time ticks by, and Regina probably looks like a fish out of water with the way her mouth opens and closes with no words coming out, no more candy floss to mask her attempts at conversation.

 

“Is this a date?”

 

Gasping, choking a little on her saliva, Regina rubs her throat with her free hand. _Is_ this a date? She certainly hadn’t intended it to be, but it looks like they’re on one now. Panicked, she says, “we’re next,” paying for the two tickets that grant them entry on the little cart, the metal door slamming shut as the next cart is brought forward and theirs is pushed up. Crawling, at a snail’s pace, Regina fidgets with her hands, glaring at the panda that takes up the seat next to Emma on the other side.

 

Swallowing thickly when the cart moves again, Regina braces herself as it swings. If she’s going to die, then she might as well go out in style. “Do you—do you want this to be a date?” Regina manages to ask, knuckles white around the metal bar.

 

Emma’s questioning gaze meets hers, an amused smile on her face as she sets the panda aside to place her hands over Regina’s on the metal bar. “Why does it get good, then playful, and then humiliatingly awkward with us?”

 

The cart jerks once more, Regina squeezing her eyes shut as they swing. “Because,” she grits out, leaning forward as far as the bar will allow her to go, the Ferris wheel done with filling their carts as it begins to move at a faster, smoother pace. “I don’t know how not to kiss you—and the only time I don’t want to, is when things are awkward, so maybe I make them awkward on purpose? I don’t know at this point—but is this thing moving faster? I can feel it moving faster?”

 

“No,” Emma drawls out, “but you’re definitely _speaking_ faster.” She fights to keep her smile to herself, but Regina watches as it blooms into something spectacular, stretching across Emma’s lips like an award for her honesty.

 

The Ferris wheel slows when it reaches the top, pausing with a jerk that Regina exhales shakily at. There’s nothing she has against heights, but metal death traps? She has several problems with those, all of them extremely valid, thank you very much.

 

Emma says, “I hope it breaks down,” and Regina nearly has a heart attack.

 

“Why?!” she asks, unable to think of any reasonable excuse as to why they should be stuck sitting in a cart looking at the world below them, watching but unable to participate.

 

Gently, crawling up the length of her arm, Emma’s hand reaches her cheek until Regina leans into the touch, her own hands still glued to the metal bar with no hope of letting go anytime soon. “Because,” Emma answers, leaning forward, “I get to stay here with you.”

 

With the backdrop of the freeway behind Emma, the wind blowing a chilly breeze, and the warmth of Emma’s hand on her cheek, Regina finds herself falling, spiralling as she captures Emma’s lips in a kiss. The height must make her bold, reminding her of death that she too will have to face, of time that is limited and running out, spending it on being an idiot instead of being happy. Releasing the metal bar, unafraid of anything other than Emma pulling away, Regina deepens the kiss, her tongue swiping along Emma’s bottom lip to feel the grooves her teeth have left behind. Emma responds in kind, a low groan vibrating against Regina’s lips as their kiss slows down into a gentle caress.

 

The Ferris wheel jerks into action again, moving them down as the next cart gets to experience the view of the carnival below. Taken down a notch, her breathing returns to normal even as her lips still spark with the residual feeling of the kiss. Laughing softly, Emma hugs the neglected panda to her chest, a smirk fixed firmly on her face. “Next time, just kiss me instead.”

 

This fondness that seeps out from her pores makes Regina soft, vulnerable and open to the slightest of affections, and she soaks everything up, a satisfied smile on her face as she holds Emma’s gaze without care. The Ferris wheel stops again when they get to the bottom, the metal door unlocking for them to climb out—Emma with that damned panda, and Regina on shaky legs.

 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Taking Emma’s hand again, the action automatic now, Regina steers them toward a roasted corn stall, her money already taken out before Emma can even think of paying. Two cobs are ordered, the warmth from the food soothing Regina as she waits for an answer.

 

Shrugging nonchalantly, Emma takes a bite of the corn, nibbling at it whilst she forms a response. “Working,” she eventually answers. It’s the mention of life outside of their bubble that makes Regina pause, to take another bite of her corn until there’s nothing left but the bare cob that she tosses into the bin.

 

There are lessons to plan, a house she must sell, and an entire life she has to go back to after this. Zelena might have a handle on the legalities with her house, but how much is that process of letting go going to cost her, and how much of that expense is going to be taken out on Emma if they continue their charade? Releasing a sigh, her fingers wiped on a serviette, Regina nods her head toward the parking lot. “We should get going then.” She doesn’t really want to leave, but they can’t live in this fantasy forever, even if she allows Emma to hold her hand as they walk, that panda on her hip like a child.

 

This could be easy, and Regina has been treading that path since they left the resort, but the romantic in her shrivels and dies the closer they get to the parking lot. They still have to get home where real life awaits them, but surely there must be something here they can take back with them—other than that damned panda. Her steps are slow as she drags her feet, gaze cast around to find anything that might help her, and Emma tugs on her hand one too many times until—

 

“Photobooth!” she shouts, pointing in the direction of a red photobooth, the line long but moving quickly enough. Emma might have protested, but if she gets the panda, then the least Regina can ask for is a picture of the two of them.

 

Emma asks in a whispered hiss, “what happened to leaving?” like she’s got a date with a television series at home, like she’s planning on making popcorn and nestling in beside Regina as she comments on the stupidity of the writing. Regina can almost picture it, can see the way she might ask Emma why she watches the programme if she doesn’t like it, only for Emma to glare at her as if she has insulted their first born. It’s such a dangerous fantasy to have, but it is one she holds close to her chest when they are ushered inside the booth, curtains closed as the settings come up on the small screen.

 

She adjusts her hair, wipes her face free of any shine, and turns to Emma to do the same. Once satisfied, Regina gestures toward the camera. “Only one funny picture. I actually want one I can show people.”

 

“So… you want glares and haughty pouts? Got it.” Emma nods her head seriously, staring straight ahead as Regina tries not to laugh at the ridiculous expression on her face.

 

Unable to help herself, to adhere to her own requests, Regina pulls Emma in for a kiss by the lapels of her jacket, tasting a chuckle that only grows when the flash of orange glows behind her eyelids. “Did it just…?” Regina asks, pulling back from Emma with wide eyes. It shouldn’t be such a hard question to answer, but Emma’s chuckle grows into something contagious, the sound tickling Regina’s insides as she tries to hold Emma together.

 

It clicks again, catching them as they fall atop each other with aching stomachs and rosy cheeks. “Please,” Regina breathes, holding Emma’s face in one hand to pull her gaze toward the camera. This time when the camera clicks, catching the way Emma’s arm is around her waist, how their free hands are clasped together, smiles on their faces and their bodies too close, Regina knows that _this_ is the one.

 

:::

 

The panda sits in the backseat like a voyeur, watching Regina as she concentrates on driving them to Emma’s apartment and catching glimpses of the woman herself from time to time. The road stretches ahead, theirs the only car on the highway that silently drives by—and it is here that Emma abruptly grabs her face, kissing Regina soundly on the lips as her eyes struggle to remain on the road. The kiss is absolutely filthy, Emma biting down on Regina’s bottom lip with a knowing glint in her eyes, her lips moving down to teasingly nip at Regina’s jumpy pulse point before moving back.

 

Shocked, a garbled sound her only response, Regina throws her hands up in the air and quickly slaps them back down on her steering. She can’t lose control twice on one road. “That was—that— _dangerous_!”

 

Emma laughs, delighted at Regina’s response. Chiming in, like this is some sort of game, she shouts, “thrilling!” Sitting up in her seat, with a breath-taking smile on her face, Emma doesn’t realise how much of Regina’s aloof character she challenges.

 

The need to remain the grumpy half of this equation to appease Emma’s humour sticks however, and Regina finds herself struggling to contain a smile at the way Emma laughs like a toddler with a new toy when she says, “foolish!” in a deep voice she exaggerates.

 

Shoulders scrunching up to her ears, Emma holds her hands out like this is her final chance at winning, throwing everything on the line. “Memorable?” she asks, turning on the puppy eyes that Regina isn’t entirely sure is natural. Indicating to turn into Emma’s street, not realising that their time together might come to an end, Regina releases her laugh in a splutter, the sound of it obnoxiously happy as it joins with Emma’s in perfect harmony.

 

“Idi—” Regina starts fondly, but the GPS pings, cutting her off from finishing the sentiment.

 

“ _You have arrived at your destination_ ,” the navigator happily announces, and Regina’s smile falls from her face like a mudslide.

 

None of them expected any _happily ever afters_ with this, but Regina doesn’t want to let go of the possibility of one so quickly. Switching the ignition off once she’s pulled up in front of Emma’s building however, Regina feels as if she doesn’t have much of a choice. What argument would she put forth for Emma to stay anyways—would Emma even _want_ to stay?

 

Breathing becomes difficult when uncertainty squeezes her lungs, the light in the car turning off to plunge them both into darkness as they wait for the next part of this agreement. Emma had made it clear that she only had this weekend to give, and Regina had made a counterargument by promising to fight for her. Between the two, this isn’t a matter of either of them winning, but rather the both of them being happy with whatever decision has to be made. If Regina fights, would Emma feel obliged to stay? If Regina lets Emma go, would she regret it later?

 

Focusing on the in and out of every breath to remain calm, Emma’s perfume fills her nose and sends her into a frenzy once again. It’s now the only smell that lingers in her car, a scent she’s gotten so used to in these past days and one she’ll miss too much. She can’t say goodbye, won’t allow herself the aching feeling of loneliness that will creep in with something so definite, but Regina does turn toward Emma whose gaze meets hers, fingers intertwining with her own as they sit silently in the car that has been constant in this journey with them. Maybe she can do this, maybe she can fight for Emma, maybe… they might be able to build a life together, no matter how slowly. Opening her mouth to say as such, Regina inhales with a small ray of hope, but Emma cuts her off with a sad smile, and shatters it all with her next words.

 

“Bye, Regina,” Emma whispers, like this is a _thank you_ for an experience that must never be repeated; a roller-coaster that’s done once and given its thrills, the contraption boring now that it is used. She doesn’t give Regina a chance to speak, to allow her the time to smooth over the frown between her eyes. Emma simply opens the car door, slowly getting out as Regina’s hand stretches to keep her within her grasp, fingertips sliding against each other until Regina doesn’t have anything to hold onto anymore.

 

There aren’t any last kisses, any parting words of love, and Regina holds back her tears as her chance to fight is snatched from her. “Goodbye, Emma,” she whispers her hand dropping down to the vacated seat, the leather still warm as Emma jostles the car when she removes her luggage from the same vehicle that Regina’s own sits in.

 

Watching from behind her window, Regina catches one last glimpse of Emma as she turns back, bag slung over her shoulder and streetlight casting a glow on her figure as she walks towards the stairs. Regina watches, waiting for Emma to come back, to give her a chance, but Emma disappears up the stairs, and she’s left with only her car for company and the empty road ahead.

 

…

 

Regina manages to drive for all of five minutes in peace before the reasons for Emma not wanting her whisper in her ear like ghosts. _You’re not good enough, she deserves better, there was a time limit, your life is too messy_ — The thoughts keep coming, the things she had thought herself to be healed from attacking her like wasps on a witch hunt. She can’t compete with this, the lump in her throat growing too large to ignore. Between her insecurities and Emma, Regina realises that moving on is a far more difficult task than she had anticipated, but Gods, is it worth losing Emma because of it?

 

“I forgive you,” Regina whispers to herself as she turns a corner, her chest tightening and tears blurring her vision, “I forgive you.” She repeats it like a mantra, over and over again until there’s snot running down her nose and spit falling from her mouth with the intensity of her sobs. Behind her are years of whispered uncertainties, of reshaping and bending herself to the whims of those she considered important. Being with Emma made all those things come to light, pulling them out from their hiding places and making Regina aware of them as she had started to break her bad habits. Even if Regina doesn’t get to experience Emma as a lover again, a thank you is still in order.

 

Accelerating, her knuckles white around the steering wheel as she parks on the wrong side of the road, Regina pushes her car door open and runs across the street with no care for what she leaves behind. The alarm on her car beeps, the open door slamming with the wind, and Regina skids as she scrambles to climb up the stairs to Emma’s building. If she’s selfish, so be it, but Regina will not allow herself to be called a coward when the opportunity to thank Emma properly is right within her grasp.

 

Huffing by the third flight of stairs, her tears dry, and snot wiped away, Regina’s legs burn as she pushes herself just a little more. If anything might make her give up, then it’s these damn stairs that torture her as she pulls herself up, a painful prayer muttered under her breath to give her strength. These stairs aren’t the only thing she needs strength for however, and Regina shudders at the thought of arriving at Emma’s apartment with three other pairs of eyes judging her, three other sets of ears that will strain to listen to their stilted conversations.

 

Reaching the next landing, the sound of her footsteps unsteady as she leans against the wall, Regina takes in a needed breath, her head in her hands as she looks down at her feet. Her heartbeat thumps in her ears, the sound of blood rushing to her head almost overpowering the small, “hey,” that makes Regina snap her head up in surprise.

 

Sitting on the landing, her bag by her feet and her chin resting on her open palms, Emma looks at Regina with red rimmed eyes, and a quirk of an amused smirk on her lips. Regina knows she must look like a panting mess, failing to fight back a smile at being just a little lucky at avoiding the roommates; and she honestly won’t blame Emma for walking away for fear of the vein in the middle of her forehead bursting—Regina can feel the damn thing throbbing.

 

They remain silent for a few seconds, with Regina trying to get her breathing under control, and Emma trying not to look like she’s staring in disbelief. Regina almost wonders if there’s something on her face, but a quick swipe of her hand along her sweaty forehead doesn’t give her the answers she needs anyways.

 

“There’s this café,” Regina breathes out lamely, hoping her voice will distract Emma enough to stop looking at her like _that_ , “they serve hundreds of flavours of tea. I was wondering… would you like to go there with me this Friday?” It’s pathetic how she covers up her run up these stairs, how she brushes her true feelings aside to ask Emma on a date that might seem platonic after this timed-out weekend—and it’s honestly embarrassing how quickly that _thank you_ can shift into something else, giving way to make room for one more shot at this.

 

“You came back to ask me to taste teas with you?” Emma’s confusion is warranted, and Regina shrugs half-heartedly to put forth a nonchalant air that tries to play this off as no big deal.

 

“I-I mean, only if you want to?” she answers, smoothing her hands down over her coat self-consciously, her shoulders tensing as she watches Emma’s expressions shift from surprised to hopeful to _defeated_. Regina doesn’t know what’s expected from her here, but the slight shake of Emma’s head and the humourless smile on her face makes everything break around her.

 

Emma shakes her head with a scoff. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says quietly, and Regina can’t help but back away with a lump in her throat, nodding furiously in agreement as her heart squeezes painfully. When she stumbles down a few steps, trying to run away from the mess she’s created, Regina clenches her eyes shut and makes her feet stop. Here, away from Emma, away from those eyes that can strip her apart with a single gaze, she leans against the wall and takes a breath, steadying herself to start a battle that she had promised to fight a long time ago.

 

“I know our time is over,” she says, her voice echoing up the stairs, “but I am only human, and you are… you have been _everything_ to me for some time now.” Regina doesn’t know if Emma has left, if her words have any impact on something that has reached its sell by date, but she powers through, making her case as best she can. “My life is a mess— all I’ve ever known has been broken down, and I’m only starting to rebuild it now. Asking you to be a part of that is selfish, but—” she pauses, taking a chance as she climbs up the few steps she had walked down before, her head peeking around the wall to find Emma standing up, her hand pressed to the spot Regina had been standing on the other side of. “But,” Regina continues, causing Emma to startle at her proximity, “I never said love wasn’t selfish.”

 

It takes a while, but a wet laugh makes its way past Emma’s lips, her head shaking from side to side as she drops her hands from the wall, “Care?” she asks with a rasp to her voice, “you mean care?”

 

There isn’t any place to hide now, no pancakes to feed Emma as a distraction, no wedding where they can use as an excuse. This stairwell only goes up or down, and they face each other with nowhere else to go, not without hurting more than their pride if either one of them attempts to run from this.

 

Regina steps forward, lessening the gap between them as she stands in front of Emma, her nose red and tear tracks down her face as she gives her all to Emma who has literally seen her naked. There truly is nowhere to hide, not behind double meanings nor deflected answers that border on flirtation. “No,” she answers easily, stepping forward into Emma’s space. “I mean,” Regina whispers, tentatively reaching out to brush a stray curl behind Emma’s ear, “that I love you, and I will do anything to fight for you— even if it means waiting for you.”

 

Time ticks by as she waits for a response, Emma startlingly still as she hopefully processes everything that Regina has said thus far. It feels like an eon when Emma finally moves, her arms spread wide to engulf Regina in a hug that makes it difficult to breathe—but Emma’s scent wraps around her, warm tears falling onto her neck, and Emma says so very delicately, “I love you, too,” like saying it any louder might break this reality they’ve created.

 

Pulling back, a choked sob slipping through an elated chuckle, Regina presses her lips against Emma’s in a kiss, one that starts and stops, and starts again when they can’t keep apart from each other for more than a few seconds. “I don’t expect more than this, alright? I only want what you can give— and as long I get to love you, this is more than enough for me. _You_ are enough.”, Holding Emma’s face in her hands, Regina stresses the importance of this, her thumbs wiping away the tears that fall freely from Emma’s eyes as everything begins to sink in.

 

Perhaps it is because she had kept her word, fighting for Emma beyond her allocated time, that she earns another fierce kiss, this one backing her against the wall as Emma’s hands roam under her coat, trailing along her arms until her wrist is within a tight grasp. “Here,” Emma rasps, removing her own watch to clasp it over Regina’s wrist instead, the black band a little loose, the face a little big, but beautiful nonetheless. “I said time was all I had to give you,” she continues in a whisper, forehead resting against Regina’s, “and now I’m giving you all of mine.”

 

Her lips stretch into a smile, a wet laugh escaping her as Regina kisses Emma once more, tasting salt on her lips as she holds Emma close, their arms wrapped around each other in an embrace that makes it impossible to tell one apart from the other. She pours everything into the kiss, every _I love you_ she had swallowed down, every compliment she had held back, every affectionate touch she had kept in her fist. It is only when air becomes a necessity that Regina pulls back, a satisfied smile on her face as she keeps Emma within her hold.

 

“Does this mean you’ll still come with me to that tea café on Friday?” Regina asks breathlessly, stroking her fingers along Emma’s cheek to dry the dampness from her skin.

 

Frowning, Emma struggles to keep her smile intact as it falls and then picks up again, hovering between here and there until it morphs into unabashed laughter that has Emma throw her head back, the sound echoing in the stairwell. “Sure,” she chokes out, kissing Regina’s cheeks as she bursts into another fit of giggles, her laughter vibrating against the skin of Regina’s neck until it subsides. “You made that whole speech just because you wanted me to taste teas with you?” Emma teases, giggling into the palm of her hand.

 

“I did not!” Regina denies, pulling Emma’s hand away from her mouth, the unfamiliar wrist watch sliding against her skin as she watches Emma laugh without hiding her beautiful smile. “But it is good tea,” she admits, raising her eyebrow at Emma who doesn’t give her the satisfaction of saying yes to her date.

 

The laugh in her eyes lingering, Emma looks at her with all the affection in the world, melting Regina completely as she leans into the delicate touch to her cheek. “I love you,” Emma says instead, confident and proud as she answers the question with three words Regina will never tire of hearing.

 

“And I you,” Regina whispers into another kiss, her lips tingling with use and swollen already, but Regina can’t be bothered so as long as Emma’s arms are around her, reminding her that she’s loved as they begin their new journey together.

 

:::

 

**2 Years Later.**

 

Regina doesn’t cook as much as she used to. There’s just enough pot roast for all of them, and a peppermint tart for the desert that she had bought from the shop because there simply hadn’t been any time to bake.

 

The table laid out with her best china, the one with gold trimmings and hand painted roses, Regina adjusts the glasses and fixes the serviettes as she moves around the table to straighten out any loose ends.

 

“If you were just going to re-do everything, why did you ask me to set the table in the first place?” Regina hears, a smile on her face as she finishes up her work to step back, nodding with satisfaction when she likes what she sees.

 

Adjusting the strap of her watch, the one given as a promise to her two years ago, Regina saunters her way over to Emma who stands with a pout on her lips, and her arms crossed over her chest. “Because,” Regina drawls, kissing Emma’s pout, “it’s far easier to fix what’s on the table than what’s missing from it. Besides, I have to give those muscles of yours something to do.”

 

“Oh?” Emma teases, uncrossing her hands to wrap them around Regina waist instead. “I’d rather my muscles do _other_ things, don’t you think?” The smirk on her face, the raise of her eyebrow. Regina should have seen it coming, but she squeals just the same when Emma lifts her up, laughing with her as she locks her ankles behind Emma’s back.

 

They’ve done this so many times, where Emma lifts her up and carries her like a sack of potatoes, but Regina will still squeal and laugh like this is the most excitable experience she’s ever had. “You’re going to fall,” Regina feels obliged to warn, not bothering to ask Emma to put her down, her fingers already tracing the grooves of Emma’s muscles through her shirt.

 

Emma hisses out an, “ _uff_ ,” head lolling back dramatically as she presses Regina against the nearest wall where the new frames housing pictures of them both from Marian’s wedding, the tiny printouts from the photobooth at the carnival, and their many dates— the tea café included, hang askew from their last round of lovemaking. “But I’ve already fallen,” Emma purrs, leaning up into a kiss, one that Regina only gets a taste of before the doorbell rings, pulling a pained groan from Emma who sets her down gently.

 

“Later,” Regina promises, pecking Emma on the lips as she makes her way to the door, a sultry look thrown over her shoulder to hear another groan for her benefit as Emma sets the frames straight again.

 

She barely manages to turn the handle before the door pushes wide open, Zelena strutting in like she owns the place with her too high heels and designer sunglasses perched on her nose. “Is it safe?” she asks, sniffing the air.

 

Ever since Zelena had walked in on her and Emma in a compromising position on the couch last year, Zelena has been insufferable in making sure the house is safe before fully barging in. Regina can’t help it honestly, the prude in her all but gone when Emma whispers sweet nothings in her ear and asks her what she wants— there have been positions and locations that Regina has never dared to try in her life that they’ve made their favourites now, both of them insatiable after they had worked through their ideologies of sex, and progressed their intimacy at a rate they could both handle.

 

“It’s safe,” she huffs, ushering Zelena inside where she strikes up a conversation with Emma, the sound of their voices distant as Regina straightens her posture at the sound of heels clicking down the pathway to her cottage.

 

It’s been a year and a few months since she moved into the quaint cottage with more land than home, her old house sold with the help of Zelena’s firm doing all the legal legwork. Regina is happy here; she has a vegetable garden she tends to, a small swimming pool that Emma helps her maintain by raking up the leaves in only her underwear to give Regina something to ogle, as well as freedom to do whatever she wants in a space that is entirely her own. Cora doesn’t approve of such simple living, but she’s learnt over the year to be civil enough not to comment on the cottage anymore.

 

The sound of those heels stops when Regina steps forward, hugging her mother who pats her back affectionately. “Hello, Regina,” she greets curtly, still aloof and poised despite the fond glint in her eyes.

 

“Hello, mother,” she greets, stepping aside to allow Cora to enter. “Marco,” she nods, acknowledging the man in her mother’s life who has been consistently there since the death of her father. Regina used to be angry at how quickly Daddy had been replaced, but Mother seems to love in much the same way she does, and this relationship between Marco and her has only recently become something romantic.

 

Drinks served, food placed on the table, and everyone settling down for lunch, Regina cuts up some roast for herself as the conversation ping pongs between too many people. Emma is engaged in a heated debate with Marco, Zelena chiming in whilst occasionally seeking Mother’s approval when she looks over at her every time she says something. The sight makes Regina smile sadly, but that isn’t her battle to fight, and she stays away from this thing that does not involve her. She focuses on her food instead, eating primly and sipping from her water as she listens to the back and forth.

 

“How is the job coming along?” her mother asks Emma once the debate has died down, and Regina zeroes in on that conversation, tuning out Zelena and Marco’s conversation about the importance of Pluto in their astrological charts.

 

“The responsibilities are doubled,” Emma answers, washing away her mouthful of food with a sip of her drink, “but the pay is far better than before. Luckily Regina convinced me to register for only two modules this semester or else I don’t think I would have managed otherwise.”

 

Mother nods at the answer, seemingly satisfied that Emma’s promotion to manager of the customer services division at the call centre hasn’t interfered with her studies. She’ll take another few years to graduate with degree in consumer studies, but they aren’t in any rush to prove anything to anyone. This achievement is highly personal, something Emma is slowly pushing to complete, and Regina is only grateful that she’s allowed the opportunity to be a part of that in whatever small way she can. “I suppose you might move in with Regina now, what with… your doubled responsibilities? Surely it would be beneficial for Regina to help you with your studies?” The hopeful raise of Mother’s eyebrow makes Regina chuckle into her glass as she sips her water, Emma fumbling for an appropriate answer.

 

Taking pity on her girlfriend, her hand reaching out to squeeze Emma’s wrist, Regina sighs in disappointment at her mother. “We’re not ready yet, Mother,” she explains, “but when we are, you will be the first to know.”

 

Everyone at this table has heard it all before, the talks about taking things slow and moving at their own pace, but Regina will say this speech a hundred times if it means that she gets the point across. Emma had given her time, and Regina had realised that all the broken things in their views needed to be fixed before they could move any faster than public dates and hand holding. For every step they took as individuals, their relationship grew, and Regina can never rush such progress, not when the results they’ve seen so far have been healthy and beautiful.

 

Mother might not be happy that they’re moving so slowly, but surely, she can appreciate how this pace works for them as a couple. Returning to her food, the last few bites spread across her plate so she can pretend to have finished her meal, Regina makes to leave to fetch the dessert she’s been eyeing all morning. The tart had just been baked, the aroma mouth-watering, and Regina hasn’t managed to sneak in a few bites when she had scolded Emma for attempting to do the same a few hours ago.

 

She’s almost off the chair, her plate in hand as she licks her lips at the thought of the tart, but Mother clears her throat to gain their attention, and Regina hovers awkwardly between standing and sitting. “I have an announcement,” Cora says seriously, setting her knife and fork down onto her plate, the signal clear enough that Regina sits back down, a pout on her face from being so close, yet so far from that tart.

 

“This may seem abrupt, but…” Trailing off, with an expression Regina has never seen on her mother’s face before, Cora takes Marco’s hand and inhales. “We are engaged to be married.”

 

Her face must be doing something because Emma kicks her under the table, the pain making her close her eyes as she pulls a smile up onto her face. This isn’t unexpected, but there isn’t even a ring on her mother’s finger to give them a warning. “We _want_ to get married,” Marco clarifies, stroking her mother’s hand affectionately, “if that is alright with the both of you, that is.”

 

Marco is so sweet, so kind, so very patient with Mother that Regina can’t possibly say no. Had Cora been anyone else’s mother, maybe she would be okay with this, but this is _her_ mother asking for permission. Even though Regina doesn’t quite see eye-to-eye with her mother on most things, this still feels like a piece of whatever is supposed to be hers is being given away to Marco.

 

“Are you—are you happy, Mother?” Zelena is brave enough to ask, sounding just as fragile as Regina feels.

 

Cora takes her time to answer, her hand still clasped within Marco’s own as she contemplates the best way to be honest, most likely. “I am,” she eventually breathes out, “I am the happiest I have been in a long time. And I want you girls to know that me finding someone else to love… this does not diminish what your father and I had.” Mother looks directly at her, holding Regina’s gaze with significance. “Okay?” she asks, and Regina nods her understanding, because she herself has found someone else to love, but the lessons and experiences learnt from her last relationship are not erased, nor will they ever be.

 

“I am happy if you are happy, Mother,” she forces out, reaching for Emma’s hand. “If you need any help with preparations or—or anything, just let us know.” If she kicks Zelena under the table, then it’s only because she’s trying to save her sister from drooling over her dress with her mouth wide open as she stares at their mother unblinkingly.

 

Silence descends on them afterwards, Cora’s soft, “Thank you,” the only thing that breaks through.

 

They all wait for Zelena to react, to approve of Mother in much the same way that she had wanted Mother to approve of her. It’s ironic how things can turn on their head, how a small smile from Zelena that turns into a cackling laugh can mean just as much as Mother’s lectures on the various aspects of their lives. “At least this time you don’t have to pretend to have a plus one, Regina,” Zelena wheezes, finding the entire situation far funnier than it is.

 

Mock offended, Regina hisses. “Oh hush!” Swatting at Zelena’s arm as the tension in the room seems to dissipate. She’ll allow Zelena to tease her, to laugh and make light of the situation so as long as she comes to terms with it.

 

“You think,” Emma leans in to whisper in her ear, “August will let go of his crush on you if we set him up with Zelena?” It’s such an obscure thing to say at this particular time, but when does Emma ever leave out an opportunity to try and rid August of his ever-present crush?

 

Leaning into Emma, her gaze trained on Zelena who speaks quietly to Mother, Regina lowers her voice. “We can invite them out with us one of the days, if you’d like. But I’m more focused on Mother’s announcement, to be honest. This doesn’t seem sudden, but it is shocking.”

 

Emma’s hand strokes up and down her arm, soothing her as Mother laughs at something Zelena has said, the air cleared and even Marco joining in. “The real question to ask is,” Emma whispers, “are you ready to attend another wedding with me?”

 

She’ll deny the blush on her cheeks and the smile on her lips, but Regina can’t wait to attend an event as big as this with Emma by her side, carefree with her affections and easy in the way they interact with each other. Marian would be thrilled to see them like this. “This one can’t be half as eventful as the last,” she says, laughing as she remembers how rocky their relationship had been then, how her car had gotten stolen from the side of the road where she left everything wide open.

 

They travel differently now, on the same path that’s better insured and at a speed that safer. They aren’t fragile, but they still might be a little delicate, a little tender in places that must heal; but when Regna cups Emma’s face to press a kiss to her lips, the simple, “yes, I am ready,” means more than just a commitment to this event, and Regina will make sure Emma knows that every day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not hesitate to let me know what you liked or did not like about this story, what scenes you thought were unnecessary/ essential to the plot, if there were any unanswered questions that I failed to answer by this last chapter, or if there has been a grammatical mistake (i.e. using a word out of context, misspelling something, etc.) that I have consistently made. Constrictive criticism is welcomed here.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic and would like to support my writing, you can read how to [here](https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=2250548541927530&id=100009172184250)

**Author's Note:**

> This will update every Thursday. 
> 
> Find me on twitter [@_sunofthemoon](https://twitter.com/_sunofthemoon)


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